Operation: FADING
by super ario
Summary: Life is hard. Sometimes a little too hard to handle on your own.
1. I

_A/N: Oh, hello. This idea has been in my mind for a while, so I thought I'd give it a go. I'm obviously not the best writer out there, and I'm not entirely proud about how this came out. But this is my first KND fic, and constructive criticism is nice. I'm not sure how often my updates will be, but I'm gonna try to get up a new chapter at least once a week. So, here ya go. Enjoy. (:_

Disclaimer: By the way, I don't own The Kids Next Door. And I'd really not like to say more about this, because I feel tears comin' on. *Sigh*.

* * *

It wasn't like she would ever love him, anyway.

Who could love somebody so brash? Somebody so impulsive? Someone as short and dumb as him? Wallabee Beetles, codenamed Numbuh Four, chewed on his lower lip with thought. He'd been planning this for a while. Nobody would have noticed, of course. He did his best to hide this from the rest of his teammates. He was never sure if he was going through with it, anyway. But, Wally -- being the type of boy who he was -- didn't like showing emotions. Especially not in front from the rest of Sector V's operatives. Even if they _were_ his best friends.

He was stronger than that. He wasn't weak. Or so he thought. But things had changed. He was changing. And change was hard, he'd come to find. Possibly a little too hard to bare with. And it wasn't much like Wally to try and run from his problems. He usually ran _towards_ them. But he wasn't feeling much like himself lately. And thankfully, his friends hadn't seemed to notice. Which only made what he was doing the more easier. Maybe.

Gripping the small plastic bottle with a shaky hand, the youthful blond licked at his dry lips. He allowed his eyes to linger on the cap for a few moments, before they flashed over to the bedroom door. It wasn't locked. There was really no need. It wasn't often that the other members of the Kids Next Door interrupted him while he was up in his room. No, dear reader. They knew better than that. He'd made it obvious that he didn't like being bothered when he was, typically, working out. Or something. They could only guess what he was doing.

Except right now the small boy wasn't working out. He was getting out. Of this world of problems. And if you asked any one of his fellow operatives if they ever saw this coming, then the answer would be a straight up "No". Wallabee Beetles wasn't a coward. Wallabee Beetles never wanted the easy-way-out; Unless of course it pertained to school work. He always did what he felt was right. Always finished what he started. Was never one to give up. He seemed literally invincible, one might say. Easily the best fighter of the five of them. The karate-kid. And easily hiding his true feelings from anyone. Swallowing whatever cruddy emotions filled his little head, and trying his best to push it all past him. Letting himself blow up here and there, from the sheer frustration of it all. _That_ was the norm.

And at this point, he'd come to feel a little ridiculous. Not to mention how ridiculous it was for an _eleven year old_ to try to commit suicide, mind you. With a full life ahead of him, and everything. But Wally wasn't the smartest boy out there. And he sure as hell didn't know what to do next. Except uncap the orange-shaded container, and set the white cap beside him. It had taken him quite a few moments to uncap the thing, thanks to those cruddy child-safety whatjamacallits. But after feeling somewhat victorious for overcoming that miniscule obstacle, Numbuh Four was seriously beginning to reconsider.

He was stupid to have planned this. He knew that very well. But everyone knew that he was stupid. They'd said so themselves. So, there was nothing new there. _Yet,_ he was smart enough to have planned this. Smart enough to have covered it up without any known suspicion. He was smart enough to have kept his façade going so strong for so long. Having hid himself, mentally, of course. But inside he wasn't nearly as strong as he wished he could be. The tears streaming down his cheeks could give any indication that his tough exterior was nothing but a mask. A mask that he wasn't wearing anymore.

You might be asking why he of all people was doing this to himself. It wasn't that he hated his life. He didn't think his life was all _that _bad, in fact. He liked what he did, fighting in the Kids Next Door. He liked where he was, in the treehouse with his friends. He'd grown accustomed to seeing these people every day. He'd grown to love his little American town. And though at times he missed his home country, he knew he'd stay with his friends forever.

Which was one of the main reasons he had to do this. The thing about being in the Kids Next Door, meant that you were a kid. You had to even Wally knew that nobody could stay a kid forever. They were destined to grow up. And when they hit the ripe age of 13, they would be decomissioned. The word...the thought just haunted him. He was not planning on sitting around, and turning into a teenager. He liked things too much, now. And the end was coming near. And Wallabee Beetles figured he'd speed up the process, _just a little bit_.

Being the second youngest of the group, he would be forced to watch as his friends forgot him and everything, one by one. Losing Abigail, then Nigel, then Hoagie. The three of them were already twelve. And then it would be his turn. And then Kuki's. He didn't want to be selfish, or anything. But he didn't think it was fair that he had to suffer. No. Why couldn't _he_ go first? It wasn't like they'd remember him, anyway.

His thoughts turned to the youngest member of the team. Kuki Sanban, AKA Numbuh Three. The overly-cheerful, somewhat ditzy, Japanese girl who'd taken his heart hostage. Ever since they'd met that one day when they were seven, she'd caught his eye. And no doubt he'd caught hers too. But that was one more thing that the Aussie was clueless about. She could never love him, he had so strictly decided. Time was running out to tell her. And he knew for a fact that he didn't have half the courage to confess it. He'd barely come to terms with it, himself. He was as whipped as a boy his age could be. But he didn't want to face that possible (or in his mind--inevitable)rejection. He wouldn't be able to show his face around here, again. So, what was the point?

A quick sob escaped from his mouth, as he dumped the contents of the bottled container onto the floor. He shook his head at the patheticness of it all. He didn't stop himself, though, from sobbing once more. There was no point in that either. He wasn't going to kid himself anymore. Wallabee Beetles was nothing but a...

_But a..._

He wasn't sure how to finish that thought. He just knew he was the biggest, pathetic-est _whatever_ he was. There was absolutely no doubt about that. Taking in a shuddering breath, in a cheap way of trying to calm himself so he wouldn't become too loud, he eased a few pills into his hand. He wasn't sure just how many it would take. And he wasn't paying attention to how many he was _going_ to take. He just knew that soon his suffering would be over. And everything would be okay. Yes, it was the only way. He would have to tell himself that, like he'd been doing so for a while. Because he was tired of it all. Tired of living in denial everyday. Tired of everything. He wanted this. He needed this. And he tried not to think about how much he was going to hurt everyone else.

The mere thought of that sent a strange shiver throughout his body. Raising his hoodie-clad arm up to wipe at his blurry eyes, he tried not to think of the guilt that was currently eating him away. He knew it wasn't fair to them. He knew that they cared about him. And he cared about then, right back. But they would have to understand that it was the only way. It was for the best. And he was pleased with the thought that after it happened, the guilt would be gone.

Just like everything else.

* * *

He knew he would have to do it quick. There was no point in lagging. No point taking the risk of one of his friends coming in, and stopping him. What would that help? He knew what he wanted. Adjusting his hand so the pills rolled into a little clutter, he took a moment to look over them. As he focused on his small white answers, he could see in the corner of his eye, the rest of the pills scattered on the floor in front of him. He felt a little bad for having taken them from his parent's medicine cabinet. He wasn't even sure what they were for. But they'd been stashed in his room for a little over a week. Waiting. For the best moment.

Popping the pills into his mouth, and shutting it, his mind was dragged back to his family. His hand fell to the side of him, though the pills stayed under his tongue, almost as if he was afraid to do _it_. His family would find out, and it would break their hearts. They trusted him enough to allow him to stay here, in his home away from home with his little friends. They'd always been there for him. Fed him. _Loved_ him. And the guilt was easing its way to the front of his mind. How could he do this to them? His mum. His dad. His little brother, Joey. He was a failure. A big, fat, failure.

_Swallow._

Grabbing for the bottle of water beside his kneeling form, he chugged at it; letting each and every pill pass. He'd finally done it. It was finally going to be over. It was bittersweet. Setting the uncapped water-bottle back on the floor, he stared down at the remaining pills spread out around him. He was on his knees, hands gripping the cuffs of his orange hoodie. Now all he had to do was wait. He figured that it would be quite agonizing, too. He hoped it wouldn't take too long, either. He'd already swallowed them. That was his ticket out. And there was no turning back.

Sniffling calmly, he reached a hand into his Jeans pocket, pulling out a much abused crumple of paper. Unfolding it carefully, he looked over it once more. It contained a rather short message addressing his family, and his friends. There was a considerable amount of spelling mistakes, as usual for him. But he'd managed to get his point across. At least he _hoped._ With his eyes blurry like that, it was hard to tell. Except the previously sobbing boy was now strangely quiet, minus the few sniffles here and there.

Feeling the need to add a few things, he took the pencil in his hand, and steadied the paper on the floor with his other. His penmanship was more unreadable than usual, being that the poor boy's hands were a shaky mess. Practically scribbling down the words, "I'm sorry." and "I love you.", he hoped his family would find the strength to get over it. Including his friends, who were more like brothers and sisters to him, then just partners-in-crime. He really hoped that they'd find those two phrases true. What a shame it would be, if they all didn't believe him.

Finding the note good enough for the moment, he folded it in half and let it lay there, amongst the mess of pills. When was this going to work? So far, he didn't feel any different. The silence in the room was unbareable. What would it feel like to die? It was something that had been on his mind for quite a while, now. He didn't think it really mattered, because at some point he'd be dead. But the thought that death would be slow and painful for him, frightened the green-eyed boy dearly. He was doing this to stop from suffering. So why was he suddenly regretting this?

With eyes wide and full of as much fear as one child could hold, he looked to his bedroom door again. Maybe this wasn't the easiest way out. There were other ways. But this one seemed the simplest for _him_ to do. And if he didn't die soon, then he'd have to try something else. But what it was like, was something that he was thinking of. What would happen after? Would he go to hell? Would he go to heaven? Was there even such thing?

His frantic thoughts continued for another minute or so, before his mouth ran before his mind could stop it. "Abby!"

Why he was calling anybody was anyone's guess. And calling her in particular? Well, that made some sense. Though all the kids were close to eachother, Wally and Abigail, or as they knew her, Numbuh Five, were especially close. They had a strange relationship. And their bond was as strong as any sibling's would be. Not to mention how none of the children rarely called eachother by their real names. No time to mentally kick himself for that as punishment. He hadn't had a chance to even think about it, before he was yelling out for her, again.

"Abby!"

What could she do? She couldn't save him. And what a shame it would be to explain everything to her. Everyone would be so disappointed of him. He couldn't live with that thought, no sir. Shutting his mouth, and feebishly attempting to wipe away his silent tears, he hoped she hadn't heard him. For the discovery of his pathetic state would be horrendously embarassing. But the chances she'd actually come in were slim. It was late. He wasn't sure _how_ late, but the sun had set for a good amount of hours, and more than likely everyone was in their rooms, already. Possibly already asleep. Hoping he hadn't woken anyone, he began to arrange the rest of the pills in a small pile, to make it easier to scoop them back into the bottle. Why? There _was_ no real reason.

But calling out to her as Abby, rather than Numbuh Five would ensure that she would come in, if'n she'd actually heard him. Cursing himself for being so stupid, he began to urge the pills back into the bottle with his hands. Before he stopped short, hearing a noise just outside his door.

* * *

Abigail Lincoln was making her usual late-night trip to the bathroom. No way in hell was she happy to hear Numbuh Four calling out to her. She wasn't one that liked to be disturbed, much like her Australian friend. But what had unnerved her slightly, was the way he called to her. Easing her way towards his door, she prepared herself for what she'd see, as soon as she entered his bedroom. There was never a dull moment with Wally around. And he was as predictable, and unpredictable as a boy could be. There was no way of telling what he was doing in there. Without bothering to knock, she opened the door and trudged inside; half annoyed.

"What is all the _yellin'_?" She asked, eyes slow enough for her to walk in and stand in front of the boy, before actually seeing him. "Numbuh Five's tryin' t-" She stopped short, seeing her younger friend clumsily slide whatever was in his reach behind him. His face was slightly red and blotchy, no doubt from crying. There were a few tears that slipped down his face silently, but he didn't look sad. He looked more terrified than anything. Terrified that he'd been caught. Changing her tone from one was annoyance, to a one she rarely used with him, she continued; "_Are you okay?"_

The answer came after a few seconds. "I don't know..."

It wasn't a lie. He honestly didn't know. And he wasn't sure how to answer her, either. Neither of them seemed to like how much his voice quivered when he answered. Sniffling again, he allowed his eyes to wander towards the space in front of him, not wanting to meet her eyes with his own.

"What are you doing in here?" She asked, noticing that he'd awkwardly tried to hide whatever it was he was holding, as she came in the door. She looked genuinely concerned, a bit unsure of how to react to seeing her friend so vulnerable.

_Lie about it_, he told himself. _Maybe she'll go away_. "Nothin'."

Swallowing nervously, he looked up at her after a deafening silence engulfed the two of them. As soon as their eyes locked, for however brief a moment, he looked away. "What's that?" He looked up just enough to see her arm outstretched; index finger pointing to the uncapped bottle of pills he'd shoved behind him so quickly. His vocabulary seemed considerably smaller.

"Nothin'."

"Doesn't look like _nothin_'."

He would've tried to stop her from walking over and bending down to take the evidence, if it wasn't for her doing it so damn quickly. He let out an audible sigh of defeat, not wanting to see her expression when she found out what it was she held in her hands. Preparing himself for verbal abuse, about how ridiculous he was being, or what in the world he was doing with them, or how disappointed she was in him, or asking if he had been using drugs for long, or anything of the sort; he was surprised when her voice came out soft, and almost eerily comforting.

"Is this what I think it is?"

"That depends." He answered, eyes still locked to the floor. "What are yeh thinkin'?"

"Wally." _Don't play around, foo'_. He could almost hear her say.

He instantly looked up at that. It was extremely rare for Numbuh Five to use his name. And sometimes with Wallabee Beetles, it was all about tone of voice. A firm, but comforting tone was what she'd used on him just now. And it was working. Like it usually did.

And he cracked. "_I-I'm sorry_." Fresh tears dribbled down his cheeks, but he made no effort to control them. He'd been caught. There was no need to try and hide it, now.

"You took these?" She asked stern, eyeing him straightly.

His only answer was another apology. "I'm sorry!"

To say that Abigail Lincoln was at a loss, was a _huge _understatement. What was she supposed to do in a situation like this? "How many did you take?" At first, Wally thought that she thought he was just taking them every now and then, to 'get high'. He knew that some kids abused drugs like that. Teenagers did. But overdosing on them was far too easy. And the dark-skinned girl in front of him seemed to know what he was doing with them. He was just glad she hadn't asked why.

But, still he didn't answer her.

"_Wally."_

"Ah dunno." His voice cracked slightly. He hadn't counted. He'd just taken a small handful. Hoping that it would've been just enough.

"Estimation, please?" She noted that the bottle was still rather filled up, and only a third or so of the pills were gone. Whether or not that was all him was anyone's guess. It could've been from the previous owner.

"Five?" Maybe.

There was a strange sigh on her end, and Numbuh Four looked up again, curiously. Her face was unreadable. And before he could apologize to her once more, she was reaching for the white cap, quickly snapping the orange-ish container shut, and stuffing it into her blue robe pocket. She was in her pajamas, and Four could see her white slippers in front of him, before his body was tugged up by his arm."C'mon." Confused, he looked to his female friend. Her voice was a little higher than usual, and her tone still frighteningly calm.

"Where're we going?"

"To the bathroom."

Frowning slightly, with his eyebrow etched down, he asked, "What for?"

"For you to cough up those pills, tha's what."

* * *

_A/N: SO, Chapter One is complete. I'm sorry for ending it there, but my fingers are sore, and I just don't know what else to write at this point. I'm waaaaay behind in school work (WAY!) and I've turned into a complete Numbuh Four, ngl. So, I really should be doing some of that pile of work I need to turn in. Yeah. I'll have the next chapter up within a few days. I hope it didn't suck too badly, and please review. I hear you can do that!_


	2. II

_A/N: So, I've been killing myself over this story (Ew, dry humor.) for a while, now. I meant to have updated sooner, but I was suddenly struck with major writer's block, and had absolutely no idea on where I was going with this. It's kind of hard to keep them all in character, because they've never really gone through something like this, and I'm not sure how they would react. Euh, I've had Wordpad open and staring me right in the face for three days, but never could find myself saving anything I wrote. But to end my suffering (....hah. More dry humor..) of such a horrible disease, (damn you, writer's block!) I figured I must write something. Anything. No matter how crappy. And I came up with this. Voila._

I disclaim this! :B

* * *

It was strange how eerily calm the girl seemed to be.

Despite the seriousness the situation called for, she was still as calm, cool, and collected as-per-usual. At least on the outside. But, on the inside? The girl was unpossibly frantic. This boy, her friend she'd known for years, -who she thought of as a little brother, no less- could possibly die if she didn't help him. She wished she could be upset with him now, and yell at him angrily about how stupid he was being. But there was no time for that, and no doubt saying anything like that to the fragile boy being pulled behind her, would be the wrong thing to say.

Keeping a tight grasp on the blond's wrist, she tugged him out of his bedroom, and down the hall towards the bathroom. Why? She wasn't one hundred percent sure she even knew what to do at a time like this. She'd never been placed in any situation relevant, and her mind was weighed down with worry. Having the boy cough up the pills seemed like the smartest thing to do, and she was willing to try anything to save him. Not only that, but at the moment, it was the only thing she could think of. But would it work? She didn't have a clue, although she surely hoped it would. Still, as she flicked the bathroom lights on, she knew she couldn't handle this one on her own. He was still weeping with guilt as she led him over to the toilet, kicking the seat down, and sitting him there firmly.

"Don't. Move." She told him, "Ya hear me?"

The boy stared right through her, struggling to keep himself from bursting out loud.

"Hey." She asserted, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Stop your cryin'. Abby don't like to see you cry." In all honesty, it hadn't been the first time she'd seen him crying. He did so at times when somebody special was being decomissioned (for example, Maurice), and other things that dealt with people he cared about; or when his report card had been destroyed by were-poodles. But his tears had never lasted too long, and he seemed to have recovered just fine. But, this...this was completely different. She'd never seen somebody look so...so broken before.

"Ah d-dun..wanna..die.." He told her, with the most sincerity in his eyes that she'd ever witnessed.

"An' you're not gonna." She shook her head, "Stop thinkin' like that. Abby knows, you're gonna be jus' fine..." She did her best to keep the boy optimistic, but it was obvious she was also trying to assure herself as well. The underlying tone of doubt in her voice would have easily sent hopeless shivers down Wally's spine, if he'd heard it. Thankfully, he was oblivious to its existance."But you ain't helpin' yourself, if you keep thinkin' those things."

There was no real way to tell if she was getting through to him; but she at least hoped she was.

"Alright?"

It took a moment for him to nod in response, and she patted his shoulder before moving her hand away. "Alright. Now, Abby's gonna go get you some help, okay?"

"Okay." He replied, almost too quiet for her to hear. Wiping his eyes with the back of his sweatered arm, she was pleased to have gotten a verbal response (no matter how small) from her younger friend. She hoped her feebish attempts at getting the boy to stay put would work, being that she needed to get help for him, fast. And no Kids Next Door medical ward would be equipped for something like this. No, this was much too serious. The boy needed real help, and on an _ohshit_ level, as well.

"Stay here." She told him, nearing the bathroom door. "Abby will be back in a sec." And with that, the girl turned and sped off towards the one person that she could think of waking. A certain bald, British boy in some white and red pajamas.

* * *

It was the fastest she'd ever made it to the team leader's bedroom, and again she didn't bother to knock. She reached for the doorknob and barged in, much unlike herself. Only now the girl didn't know how to behave. She knew she had to stay calm, and help take control of those who couldn't. But still, the mere thought of losing her friend to this, was enough to make her more unlike herself than she'd ever been.

"Numbuh One!"

Said boy groaned awake, turning his body so that he was facing her with blinking eyes, to try and rid them of their blurriness."Numbuh Five, what is the meaning of this?"

"We got a situation." She huffed, wishing to get this awkward conversation over with, so she could go back and accompany the waiting boy. Immediately, the boy's leadership skills turned on, and his eyes widened slightly as he pushed himself in a sitting position. Were they under attack? Pushing the blankets off of him and to the side, he rose from the bed. "It's Wally."

Before the boy could even think of asking her what was wrong, he stopped short. "What?"

"Just, c'mon.." She hurriedly said, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him right out of the room. Startled, the operative allowed her to lead him to whatever, wherever, with his eyebrows raised in confusion.

"Numbuh Five....?" Something was definately wrong here. Very, very wrong. There was way more than one way he could tell. First of all, she'd _barged_ into his room while he was asleep, and was dragging him somewhere. Second of all, she had _just_ told him they had a situation; whatever it was. Oh, not to mention that said situation was Wally. Odd. They rarely used their given birth names in the treehouse. An unsettling bout of worry fluttered through the boy's stomach, stumbling as he fought to keep on the girl's toes. She was terrified, it was easy to see. Something was definately not right.

Nigel Uno was actually unsure if he should ask what was going on, or not. If he let himself be led the remainder of the way, then he'd eventually find out with his own eyes. But still, there was something nagging at him, as he noticed they were in the direction of the bathroom. "Numbuh Five, please explain to me what's happening."

Abby abruptly stopped her speed-walk and released his wrist. Turning to face the hairless boy with an unreadable expression, she exhaled with exhaustion. Her mouth opened, ready to form words but, nothing was said. She didn't know what to say, or how to say it, or whether any of it was even true. If only this could be a nightmare. A nightmare that she'd wake up from any second now. But when her awakening didn't come, she shook her head into reality, and fished the orange bottle from her robe and held it out for the other to see. It would explain itself, she hoped. Nigel was smart enough to figure it out.

It was evidant he did understand. Though at first, Nigel glanced at the container warily. "Wha-" Looking at Abby, then back at the container, his eyebrows shot up once more with alarm. He understood. He thought he understood. But the mere thought was enough to almost laugh at. No way. He was probably misunderstanding. It was just unpossible. He couldn't have been right. He'd just woken up; his mind was still rebooting itself. Wasn't it? Taking the container from her hands, he forced his mind to compute the uneasy looks that his fellow operative was sending him. "You mean..."

There was no nod, nor verbal reply back. All he needed was the twinkle in her eyes to know it was true. Sighing, he squinted his eyes at the white label stickered to the bottle, reading the name of Numbuh Four's father. _Of all the things he could've done..._Nigel bitterly thought, clutching the evidance tightly and quickly following Abby to the bathroom. As they hurried, a small noise sounded from inside the orange bottle, as the remaining pills shuffled together with their every step. _Stupid. Repulsive... Horrendous?_ Nigel was , for once, at a loss for words. Anger raged through him at break neck speed. He couldn't have imagined one of his teammates doing something so idiotic and dangerous. Something so selfish. Something to negatively affect his team on _purpose._ Nothing like this. Not Numbuh Four.

Then again, the boy was so impassive it was hard to tell what emotions lurked behind his stone cold, green eyes. Nigel wanted to yell at him so loudly, for so many reasons. So many things he had to tell the boy. Oh, he was mad. He was _really_ mad. But just as he entered the bathroom and found said boy sitting on the covered toilet seat, his anger ceased, and was replaced with one of sympathy, and suddenly...guilt. Nigel Uno had never witnessed anybody looking as afraid as Wallabee Beetles did. The boy's emotions floated around the room thickly, and the fear and pain were somehow contageous. _Why didn't we see this coming?_ The thought was pushed to the back of his mind for later.

"Numbuh Four...?" It came out more of a question; as if he couldn't recognize the strong willed blond behind the tears that streamed down his silent face.

If possible, Wally's expression seemed to sadden, when he locked eyes with his team leader. How pathetic he must've looked. His eyes turned away so rapidly, Nigel was never sure they even shared that second of time. Abby was at the boy's side in an instant, looking quite calming. From what Nigel could tell, there were no tears attempting to escape her jailed eyes. Nothing like that, at all. She was just looking at the Australian; eyes surging with love and concern. But Nigel knew better. Underneath all that moment's worry, was growing anger. Just like his. Wally had been expecting this. And from the look on his face, he could see it there too.

_What to do, what to do..._

Sometimes, Nigel hated being leader.

"You alright, Wals?" Abigail asked. Nigel found it almost amusing how appropriate the name was. The boy had built walls up all around him. Walls that nobody could jump over, or break down, or see through. He was afraid to let people in. He was afraid to let people see this other side of him. The softer one that few knew was even there. They all saw it, at times, when he did something nice at his expense. Abby could see it in there, in hiding, hoping that one day he wouldn't have to shield himself as much as he did. Kuki Sanban was the only person who could actually blast holes into the walls, with her lazers of cuteness. He tolerated her, and her bubbliness to an extreme. Because he loved her.

But hiding behind such gated territory for so long could not have been healthy for anyone. And now, the boy had reached Rock Bottom. With nobody around to even notice the darkness which engulfed him inside, he was left alone, helpless, struggling. Rock Bottom had become quite familiar to him, and if he was old enough, he would've thought about renting.

There was no real reply from him. His eyes moved slowly up to meet hers, then moved away just as slowly. He seemed in a daze, almost. Could it have been shock? Could it have been the pills finally starting to take effect? Nigel hadn't even been let in on any details, and wasn't aware of how much or little time it had been since the boy had taken the damn things. Neither one of those possibilites sounded good. Approaching the boy almost cautiously, he placed a hand on his shoulder, and leaned over slightly so he could take a better look at how aware the boy was. He was conscious, but was doing his very best to avoid any more eye contact with either teammate. Not that Nigel could blame him.

"Numbuh Four..."

No response.

"Numbuh Four, "He again said, this time with more force," Look at me."

He saw Wally's eyes flash for a second, as if he was going to obey the command. But those deep, blank pools of green only turned the other way, finding something on the bathroom floor most fascinating. With a sigh, Nigel awkwardly removed his hand, and instinctively took a step back, to give the blond some space. He was closing on them, and closing fast.

"Call an ambulance."

Abby's gaze found its way over to her leader's. They exchanged a silent, speedy conversation in their heads, as if they could actually communicate telepathically. Abby knew the details. She knew more about the situation than Nigel did; and there was no time to waste. Nigel handed her the bottle of small whites and with a quick glance at the Aussie -who still was staring off at who knows what- she scurried out the door...leaving the two boys alone...

...thoughts drowning in the silence that surrounded them.

A few long seconds passed, and all Nigel could do was find his mind wandering from the team fighter, to the sensible girl who was summoning the paramedics. He wished he could comfort the smaller male, and he felt that it was probably something he should've been doing. But he wasn't sure how. Nigel wasn't sure what to think, or say, or do. The ever so confident brit wasn't even sure in the slightest how tonight's dilemma would wrap itself up. But one thing was for certain.

Things around the treehouse would never be the same.

* * *

_A/N: It's just past one AM, so that's all you're getting. Wasn't the end just so...so cliché? Hah! And my muse for this story has almost fully returned. I had to force-feed myself cereal so I could stay awake and write this crap. Review it. :B_


	3. III

_A/N: Ugh. This writer's block is killing me. My muse comes to me one second, and the next it's gone. -.- You know how irritating that is? And when my muse is finally back, I don't have the time to write. It irks me! But, anyways, I don't think too many people even like this story. If that be the case, then I don't want to waste my time posting this. So, y'know, it's all up to you. -- This chapter was a...pain. Major. I know what I want to do with the story after the night ends, but I had no idea how to continue the night scene. Being the author, I just cut it to end, because I can do that. Hehhee. So, yeah, I'm really not at all proud of this particular chapter, but I'm confidant the others will be much better (hopefully). I plan to have the next chapter up by this Friday, but I'm not making any promises. (My muse is slightly here, so I'll see what I can do). :3_

_Disclaimer: If I owned the KND, I wouldn't have to come up with something clever to write here.  
_

* * *

_Things around the treehouse would never be the same._

Oh, how it was so true. Nigel and Wally both knew that very well. Perhaps that was why the blond was having such a hard time even _looking_ at his leader. He knew that he'd just screwed everything up for everyone, including himself. Mostly himself. Nobody would trust him. Nobody would look at him or think of him the same. He'd just made things worse for them all. He'd hurt them. And he hated himself for it.

_Should've just kept your mouth shut,_ he told himself, sourly.

He hated himself for making his friend and fellow operative find him in such a pathetic state. Hated himself for wasting everybody's time like this. A deep river of emotions raged on in his head, sending his concentration in multiple directions. It felt as if his overwhelming thoughts would drown him, soon. It was too bad he couldn't swim_. Could've just thrown yourself into a pool._

Part of him was furious. Although he looked more spaced out than anything, he was boiling inside. Why? Why? Why? _How stupid can you be_?

The other part of him was relieved, and thankful, and almost _happy_. Happy that they would try to save him. He didn't want to die. And yet, he _did_ want to. He felt like he deserved it. And if he hadn't before, then he really did now. After all that he'd done. He thought about how he looked forward to not feeling guilty anymore, once he was dead. His plan had gone horribly wrong (_and right_), and he was going to be forced to deal with the consequences. To live with the fact that he'd just done (or attempted to do) possibly the worst thing he could've ever done, to his friends, and to his family.

These thoughts flooded him like a tsunami, and he found himself drifting even farther from reality. He wanted to hide inside of himself and never come out. He didn't want to show his face to anyone. If only he could stay in his mind for the rest of his life and not worry about getting these ashamed looks from everybody. He put walls up for protection, and he'd grown accustomed to it. That's how he lived his life. As a lie. Bitter, strong on the outside; soft and weak and fragile on the inside. He didn't know any other way.

He was confused.

He felt _so_ sick.

* * *

Nigel kept his eye on the blond boy, who merely sat there in deafening silence. Even his sniffles had ceased, and no new tears had made their way down his cheeks. His eyes appeared to be glazed over in thought, hardly acknowledging the brit as company. The leader had no idea if the boy had been functioning earlier, with the other, who had left to call for help. But as of now, it didn't look like the Aussie was really 'there'. Not in the slightest.

"Wally?"

Nigel wasn't really expecting a response, so it came as no surprise when he was answered with silence. Still, there was a disappointment in the air...suffocating them both in a quiet that was strangely more calming, rather than awkward. Perhaps because there was only one person in the room who could think clearly, and notice it. The other had closed himself up, to save himself the humiliation.

Inching closer, and forcing another pang of horrible guilt to the back of his mind; he looked over the other male's blank expression. From what he assessed, the boy might not have even been aware of his surroundings. His eyes still moved direction, but there was nothing but confusion written in them. Confusion, and fear. "Wally." He said, again, lightly shaking the other's shoulder. "Hey."

He shook his shoulder, again. To his greatest surprise, the blond's green eyes met his. Nigel was almost startled by their sudden movement, and widened his own eyes, behind the sunglasses he had fallen asleep with. "You all right?"

It wasn't until Nigel was this close, for him to notice the other boy's ragged, shallow breaths. It was slightly alarming. His eyebrows lowered with concern, noting that the Australian was giving him direct eye contact; but Nigel saw nothing slightly consoling in them. Suddenly, the blond blinked his eyes, and looked at the other boy, as if he'd only now been jostled awake.

"I don't feel so good."

* * *

Abigail Lincoln left as fast as she could, towards the nearest phone. It really hadn't taken long at all; her running with the utmost silence - minus the small noise emitted from the shaking pills in her hand. Somehow she ended up in Wally's bedroom, calling for an ambulance in quiet. For multiple reasons, she didn't want to risk letting Numbuh Two or Three hear her conversation, if they woke up. And besides, there was something in his room that she needed to get.

After explaining their situation to the medical personel on the phone, the dark-skinned girl hung up, and glanced over at the floor. There lay a piece of paper; crumpled and ruined and left to be forgotten. She had hardly noticed the thing when she first happened apon her friend; but as she fled the bathroom for a phone, she had remembered seeing _something. _Knowing the importance of said letter, she bent over and picked it up. Her eyes wandered over it for a moment, but they would not allow her to compute anything written on it. There was no need to.

He wasn't going to die.

Abigail would personally make sure of it. Folding the paper in half, and stuffing it into her robe pocket for later, she turned towards the door. They needed to get their Aussie out of the bathroom, and down to the Uno household for when the paramedics came. Not to mention that the Kids Next Door could not handle this one on their own, no matter how much they wished they could. This was different.

Their parents would have to know. Just like the woman on the phone had told her. Nigel had obviously thought of the same thing, for when she arrived back at the bathroom, he was waiting by the bathroom door, most impatiently. "Are they coming?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Should be here pretty soon." Thankfully the hospital was not too far. Abigail wondered if they should have just gone to Nigel's father and asked him for a ride, but she knew Wally would not appreciate the awkward drive over.

"Right," he exhaled, "Well, I think it'd be best if we took him over to m-"

"Let's go." She interrupted; brushing past him and grabbing the blond by the arm. "Alright, Wals, c'mon..."

As he stood, Abby could not help but notice just how much the blond was shaking. It took only a brief moment for him to find his footing, and she led him out of the bathroom; Nigel watching in silence.

They needed help, and fast.

* * *

Abby and Nigel slowly led the blond out of the treehouse, and down to the Uno household. There wasn't so much to do until the ambulance arrived, and they spent most of their time exchanging uncomfortable glances of concern, and occasionally talking to their quiet friend, to make sure he was still...well,_ alive_.

After a while, the sirens sounded off in the near distance, and Nigel had gone to fetch his dad. He'd returned with the surprised adult, who was as much at a loss as either of the children were. Wally remained mildly respondant, but they'd figured (or at least hoped) that was by choice, and not caused by the drugs he'd taken. Once the ambulance arrived, Nigel gave Abby the OK-Go to ride along in the ambulance, with Wally, to keep him company. He said he'd stay back at the treehouse with Numbuhs Two and Three until morning. Abby didn't need to be told twice; she hopped into the ambulance and took a seat right next to the Australian boy, reaching for his hand whether he wanted it or not. She knew he needed it. He needed to know it was alright.

Mr. Uno climbed into his car, after speaking with the paramedics, and brought out his cellphone. There was no doubt in his mind that it would be one of (if not_ the_) hardest phonecalls he'd ever had to make. By now the time was half past midnight, and he reckoned that Mr. and Mrs. Beetles were already happily asleep. It hurt him, being a father, to have to make such a call, but it needed to be done. Flipping the phone open, he went through his contacts and rang for the Beetles' household. At first, there was no answer. But once he'd gotten ahold of them, he found it was extremely difficult finding the right words to explain their son's dire situation to the boy's frantic parents. Shutting his phone, he stuffed it back into his pocket, swore to himself , and backed out of the driveway, to follow the ambulance to the hospital.

Wally hadn't said a word since the paramedic's arrival. It had only made things more _real_, when they were there. Though it relieved them all (including Wally), he was having an even harder time looking at anyone. To have the medical personal there only increased his guiltiness and anger with himself. This was all because of _him_, and it had finally hit him that he'd been stupid enough to have done such a thing. His _parents_ were coming; Mr. Uno had said he would call them.

The thought was scary enough.

He knew he wasn't going to die. Not now. He was in good hands. But his parents would surely kill him after this.

The immediate emergency would end soon enough, he knew that; but the recovery was just beginning. And it wasn't gonna be easy.

* * *

_A/N: Boo. Feel free to throw your popcorn at this, if you want. Review it, though, and please tell me if you still want me to continue. The recovery from this is defiantely going to be a lot more interesting. _

_I have a poll up on my profile, so you should check that out..._

_And a random idea popped into my head! Would it be totally weird to write like...an ER type of story, taking place in the future when Wally is a dooctooor? I think that'd be kind of cool...hmm. What do you think?_


	4. IV

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. So, don't sue me. Seriously. I don't have any money._

_Author's Note: So, I decided I'm going to stop telling you the dates I'm going to upload because as you can see, I'm a dirty liar. (By Friday? - Yeah right.) Well, I am really sick...so, it's been slowing me down, a lot. I don't know how I got ill out of nowhere, but I did - you know how that goes. This chapter is a lot longer than the last, and was going to be even _longer_, but I decided to cut the rest, for the next chapter. I'm not going to school tomorrow either, so I'll spend some time working on that. Thanks everyone for all those nice reviews I've been getting. They really inspire me to write :)_

_And, speaking of inspiration...music certainly does its work. I was thinking about making a playlist for this story, but I had no idea what songs I should pick. (If you got any suggestions, do tell!) I had iTunes out, when suddenly How To Save A Life started to play. I think it fits rather perfectly -.-_

_Yeah, I'll stop talking now._

* * *

The first thing Wally was aware of - as his eyes slowly opened - was how white the room was.

Bright and practically blinding. He quickly shut his eyes, not liking the headache it gave him. Was he in Heaven? Was he dead? Was he just dreaming?

Something about the way he felt told him he wasn't dreaming. Though his tired eyes hadn't adjusted well, he'd managed to catch a glimpse of a few different shapes around him. He was in a room; he knew that much. Wasn't much like Heaven, though. If he was in Heaven, he wouldn't be feeling so....strange, would he? Could you feel after you were dead?

"Wallabee..."

Something, or someone was saying his name. It was soft, soothing...familiar. Who was it?

His eyes struggled to re-open, and he found it was easier to just remain in this blank, numb state. He could always try again later. That is, if there _was_ a later. Could be that he was dying, and the one who'd called his name was an angel, or something. The thought was peace bringing, and he welcomed the darkness with ease. At least he wasn't in Hell.

"Wallabee. Can you hear me?"

Loud and clear. Who _was_ that? Why wouldn't they let him sleep? He decided to ignore them. They would get the picture.

"Wally, baby?"

He did not like their persistance.

"Honey, if you can hear me, open your eyes..."

He decided to humor them this time.

Forcing his green eyes open, he came face-to-face with someone he knew all too well. His mother. His vision was blurry, and he blinked her image clear; taking note of her lit-up expression. A relieved smile played at her lips, but her eyes were clouded with worry and exhaustion. No doubt from staying awake all night, and all morning. He wasn't sure what time it was, but he was in a hospital. It was easy to tell.

He shut his eyes for a moment - urging his body and mind to work properly - and opened them, again. The blonde haired woman was staring down at him, patiently. He could tell she'd been crying. He did not like knowing that, in the least. Dozens of vague memories from the previous night sped through his mind like a getaway car. Zooming, zooming past...throwing him off guard. Cars filled with fear, and guilt, and anger. He had tried to _kill_ himself.

Why couldn't he remember clearly? Did it all really happen last night, or had he been asleep for long? He had so many questions.

"How are you feeling?"

He wanted to reply with, "Like I just tried to kill myself," but found he could only groan.

She gave him a sad smile, leaned over and pecked his cheek. He shut his eyes, feeling all too tired to keep them open for more than a few seconds.

"I'm so glad you're okay."

Well, as okay as he _could_ be in the situation. It was evidant that at the moment her son was nowhere near okay. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of her voice. She was eyeing him strangely. He _was_ her son, after all. It must've been torture to learn her son was trying to rid himself. She probably blamed herself for being a terrible mother, never realising it. Wasn't a mother supposed to know everything? How come she hadn't noticed her own child was depressed? He hoped she wasn't really blaming herself, but he knew she was. She had to be.

"For a second there, I thought I'd lost you." He wasn't used to this tone of voice she was using with him. Normally, she was scolding him for knocking down a vase, or breaking one of Joey's toys. Now it was just plain 'mushy', and if it were any other situation, he wouldn't have shown tolerance to it. How was he supposed to reply to that?

'Mum, stop. You're making me feel guilty.'

He knew that was the point. She raised a hand up, and gently brushed the bangs out of his eyes. He blinked at her, locking eyes for a moment, before shutting his once more. She was disappointed. She was angry. She was everything everyone else had to be.

_Everyone else._

Where was everyone else?

His eyes darted open for the billionth time, and surveyed the room. It was very much white, and as plain as any other hospital room he'd come in contact with. There was a steady beeping coming from the machines he was attached to, and the creak of the bed as he sat up a little, but no-one else. A hand was placed on his shoulder, pushing him back down. "Relax, honey."

"Where is everyone?" Wally asked, surprised at how weak he sounded.

"Your father's at home with Joey." She explained, "He was here earlier, but Joey was getting cranky."

What about his friends? What about Abby? She had been there with him, hadn't she? He wasn't sure; everything he remembered was fuzzy.

"Do you want some water?" His mother asked him. He hesitantly nodded. She moved to the side, pushing at a button to raise the bed into a sitting position, and handed him a small, greenish cup. "Careful." He took it from her, wanting so much to be able to do it on his own, although finding that his hands were rather shaky. "The doctor should be in here, soon."

He handed the cup to her after taking a small sip, and leaned back uncomfortably. "How long have I been here?"

"Since last night." She told him, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He did not like the way she was looking at him. "Nigel's father gave us a call. We were all worried sick."

"I'm sorry." He really, really was. Did she understand that? He didn't think so. Nobody could understand just how sorry he was.

"I love you so much, Wallabee."

Her voice was breaking, which he took as a very bad sign. Glancing at her guiltily, he nodded. "I know, mum, I know." He was mentally urging her not to cry.

There was a brief silence, before he heard a sniffle. He looked at her again, frowning at the sight. Fresh tears were trying to escape her matching green eyes, and she was staring at him - as if he'd come back from the dead. It was a highly discomforting situation.

"Ma, don't cry..." _Please, don't cry._

"I'm sorry. I just..." she stopped, wiping at her eyes, "I love you so much. I don't want anything to happen to you."

He couldn't reassure her that nothing _was_ going to happen to him. He wished he could, but there was absolutely point in it. He was the one who had been a danger to himself, in the first place. It was his own fault he was there, laying in a hospital bed. He'd lost all trust from anyone. Including his very own mother.

"I was so afraid I would lose you."

Wally chewed at the inside of his lip, stopping himself from breaking out into tears of his own - though his would be of a different reason. It was not easy watching her cry, and he found himself staring at the blue blankets, rather than her face. How could he do this to his own mother? How could he go and hurt her like that? He knew that she'd be upset, but he'd done it anyways. He was so selfish.

She wanted to know why. They all wanted to know why. But she couldn't ask him. "You know you can come to me for anything, don't you?"

"Yes." Then why hadn't he? He was a liar.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

She leaned over him, and gave him another kiss. "I better go call your father. Do you want anything from the cafeteria? I'm going to grab lunch."

He shook his head. He was not hungry in the slightest, which was strange, because he was _always_ hungry. But at the moment, food was the last thing on his mind, and if she hadn't asked him about it, he probably would've forgotten about its existance all together. He needed to be alone. He needed to think.

"Your little friend's here." She told him, moving from her spot on the bed, to place the cup back on the brown table beside him.

"Hm?" He asked, instinctively looking towards the door. There was nobody there.

"Abigail," she continued, smiling sadly at her son, "She came here with you. I had Mr. Uno take her home. But, she came back this morning with her father. He works here, you know."

Oh, right. How could have he forgotten? Abigail's father was a doctor there. Wally wondered if his doctor was Mr. Lincoln, or not. It would sure be nice knowing him already, yet that would make things extremely awkward. Mr. Lincoln had known him for years. Wally hoped he wasn't _his_ doctor.

"She's down in the waiting room. I'll let her know you're awake and send her up." She handed him a television remote. He hadn't even _noticed_ the TV in the room, nor the fact that it had been on, muted. Tom and Jerry was playing, so it wasn't like there really needed to be sound. He didn't think he'd be paying attention to it, anyway. "Will you be alright by yourself?"

He wasn't surprised she would ask. She was afraid of leaving him alone. But, what could he possibly do, now? It wasn't like he would do anything there. He was the one who had yelled for help, anyway. "I'll be fine, mum. I promise."

It was more than obvious she was hesitant to leave him, not that Wally could blame her. "Alright. I'll be back as soon as I can, honey..."

He gave her a little nod back, and watched her exit the room, leaving him in nothing but silence.

* * *

In all honesty, Wally was surprised he'd been left _alone_. Wasn't there a rule against that, or something? Wasn't he supposed to be tied up like a crazy person? It was nice to think that his mother believed in him, at least to an extent. Abby would be up any minute. So, his alone-time would not last long. But it gave him time to think. He really needed to do that.

Adjusting himself so that he was more comfortable, he glanced away from the television. He was the _definition_ of self-loathing. He didn't care about hurting himself. He cared more about hurting everyone else. He had done it to them all. He had acted like he didn't care. He could've went to them. But he took them for granted, like a coward, and let himself get over his head. It made sense, and it didn't make sense. It was ridiculous. All the trust they'd built up over the years, was put to waste. He would never have his privacy again. He figured they'd have somebody in to 'talk' to him, eventually. Somebody who was trained in working with people...

...people like him.

What kind of person _was_ he, anyway?

He was just a kid. What did he know? He didn't know anything. He didn't have any answers.

He didn't know what he was thinking. He _wasn't_ thinking, he couldn't have been. Wally wasn't like that. He wouldn't have hurt anyone if he knew he was going to. But didn't he already know? It was so confusing. Maybe he wasn't who he thought he was. He couldn't have been. That wasn't him. What _happened_ to him? He needed to know.

This wasn't what he wanted. He didn't need this, and _they_ didn't need this. He was in the hospital. Was that really better than being in his grave? He could give things another try. For everyone else's sake. But he didn't want to hurt them anymore. He was afraid he would. He was a jerk. He didn't deserve any of them. Not one. They were better than him. What would they think of him, now? They couldn't think anything good. He was messed up. He didn't want to be messed up.

But, he didn't know what to do with himself. How could he get better? What _was_ 'better', anyway? He didn't understand when people, who he didn't even_ know_, told him that it would be okay. Why all the EMT's last night had told him he would be alright. They didn't know. They didn't know _him_. Who were they to make assumptions? Maybe he didn't _want_ to be okay. Sure, they'd saved him, and he was half glad about that; but he didn't like them. No, he hated them. They didn't know anything, either. Everything wasn't going to be just fine. Wally wasn't kidding himself around, anymore. He knew he had problems. Problems not even _he_ understood. Definately problems no _stranger_ would understand. He wished they would stop pretending. Because he stopped pretending last night, when he tried to kill himself.

It was strange to admit, but Wally knew he was not okay.

There was so many things running through his head, it was almost making him dizzy. He wished he could slow down, and relax, and think everything through. But he couldn't. There was no time to do that. He wouldn't be able to think with somebody there with him. Watching him, like he was some kind of deranged animal in a zoo. Like a science experiment gone wrong. Like a monster. Something that needed to be watched over, so that it didn't hurt anyone, or itself.

Kids weren't supposed to have problems like this. He couldn't possibly be in the Kids Next Door, now, could he?

His eyes stung with moisture, and he wiped at them hastily. He wasn't going to cry, now. He _wasn't_ going to cry. There was no point in trying to keep himself together, but for the sake of _feeling_ okay, he wasn't allowing it. He needed to be in control for once.

He was startled out of his thoughts, when a few knocks sounded from across the room. Standing in the doorway was someone he both wanted and didn't want to see.

Abigail Lincoln.

She looked a little tired, but other than that, fine. She obviously hadn't been crying - at least not recently enough for Wally to notice. She offered him a small smile, that was made up of relief and sympathy. He didn't want pity. He didn't deserve it. He needed to apologize to _her_, and thank her. He wanted to. But he didn't know what to say, or how to say it.

"Hey." She said, walking over to his bedside, slowly. "Your mom told me you were up."

He couldn't reply. He could only stare, with his shimmering eyes. She obviously noticed this, because her smile crumpled somewhat, as she took a seat in the chair beside the bed.

"You alright?"

"Yeah." He answered, much too quiet.

Even Wally was not convinced, "You sure?"

There was two things he could do. He could take the easy way out: smile, nod, and start construction on those damn walls he hid behind so much; or, he could tell the unmistakable truth, and cry his eyes out. For some strange reason that he didn't even _know_, he wasn't planning on taking the easy way with her. Perhaps it was because she was the one who he had called out to for help, the one who _had_ helped, and stayed with him - despite what he thought he wanted.

"No." He let out something that sounded like a sigh, and a laugh, all in one.

He looked away, dropping his gaze to the linoleum floor on the other side of the bed. He found looking people in the eyes was much more difficult after screwing up as big as he had.

She didn't tell him it would be okay. She knew he wouldn't listen. She only asked what she knew she had to, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Did he? He figured he probably should, but he wasn't ready to. Not yet. "I don't really wanna talk..."

"Alright." He was hoping she would drop it there, but she continued, "Then you'll listen."

He glanced at her unsurely, hoping what she said to him wouldn't be too agonizing to hear. He was in for an ear-full, and he reckoned that she would easily make her point. Abby was more of a straight-forward type of person. Wally was slightly thankful for that. But he was afraid. Afraid of living the shame all over again, and over and over from now on. He'd brought this upon himself.

He expected her to yell at him, but she was surprisingly just as calm as she had been before. And though her words still struck him like a bus, they were as gentle as they could be. He appreciated that more than he could admit, "Abby doesn't know what's going on in that head of yours - nobody does- but whatever _is_, I'm sure we could've helped you with it."

He resumed chewing on his lip, trying his best to take every word in. It was rather difficult, on account of his brain not wanting to work quite properly, but he knew he needed to at least _try_. He owed her that much. And much, much more.

"I don't mean to get on your case like this - so soon- but I just got to know, " she paused, " did you really think you had to go so far?"

His eyes dropped for the second time, struggling desperately to find _something_ to focus on.

She knew he wouldn't reply, so she went on, "We're a team. We care about eachother." Had he forgotten? Sector V was more than just a team. They were bestfriends. And friends cared about eachother, didn't they? They had eachother's back, like a family. Abby was like the big sister Wally never had. She kept him in line, he respected her. And at times it could seem like Abby and Nigel were the parental units. Nigel, the leader. Abby, as much of a leader as him. They all - him included- were disappointed. Did he not think they cared enough to listen?

Of course, they were probably just as disappointed with themselves, about never noticing. There had to have been signs. There must have been some kind of clue - no matter how subtle - signaling that one of them was in silent despair. Why hadn't they noticed?

Perhaps he was just too pro at hiding.

"Don't know _how_ you do it, " she sighed, "but you're darn good at it." He knew what she meant. Anyone would know what she meant.

His mouth opened, wanting nothing more than to just mutter an apology of some sort to the girl who'd saved his life, but he discovered there was nothing he could think of saying. A simple 'sorry' would not cut it. There was too much to say, and too little of a vocabulary in him. He shut his mouth, swallowing whatever word had rolled onto his tongue, and awkwardly pulled at a loose string on his blanket.

There was momentary silence.

"The gang's all coming to visit you." That certainly got his attention. He looked up, with an almost terrified expression. He didn't want them to see him like this. Two of them seeing him was enough. He knew that Hoagie and Kuki had found out about it - he was sure everyone in Cleveland had - but they hadn't _seen_ him. He couldn't hide forever, though. Sooner or later, they'd have to talk about it. It wasn't like any of them could just forget about it. This wasn't like anything else he'd ever done. Might as well get over the awkward first hellos.

"At nine. Which is..." she glanced at her watch, "...five minutes ago."

"Oh." He supplied, thankful he'd gotten his voice back.

"Wally." He glanced at her, noting for the first time that his eyes weren't teary anymore.

It looked as if she was trying to find the right thing to say to him, to sum up what long lecture she probably _wanted_ to say, "You did the right thing." Killing himself? No, that wasn't what she meant. But calling for her. He knew that's what she meant. Was it too much to say she was proud of him? Probably. But he told himself that's what she was trying to say, because it made him feel a heck of a lot better.

"I don't know what I would do without you." Okay, getting a litle too sentimental for his liking, here. But it was for the better. He noticed how she'd dropped the third-person speaking, for the moment. How could she do that, anyway? He remembered trying to speak like her for one day. He couldn't do it.

"Do me a favor?"

Anything. He owed her for everything he still had.

"Don't ever do anything so freakin' stupid - ever, ever again."

* * *

Back at the treehouse, Nigel had done his best to remain as calm and collective as a leader should be.

Frankly, it was a difficult task. His father had returned an hour or two after he drove off, following the ambulance. There were no doubts coming from Nigel that Wally was in good hands with Abby, for the moment. She seemed more calm about it than _he_ did.

He didn't get much sleep, though. He was too busy worrying. He knew if the other two who were slumbering away in their rooms knew about what was happening, they wouldn't be sleeping so soundly, either. He struggled for over an hour, thinking about what he could say to them in the morning.

How could you break it to someone that their bestfriend tried to kill themselves?

It wasn't something they ever could've _imagined_ having to deal with. They were children, afterall.

But as it appeared, even kids could fall through the cracks. Nigel wasn't sure what it was that had driven his friend to do something so brash - but he was always brash to begin with. But he questioned himself - as a leader. He was in charge of his team. How had he failed them so badly?

Would his team be cut loose? Or would Wally, and Wally only? Surely he was in no condition to participate on missions.

Nigel was afraid of losing such a fellow operative - but at the moment, more worried about losing a friend. He could survive, breathing and living and walking around like nothing had happened. But things wouldn't go back to normal. There was no hope for that in the near future. And even if they all got Wallabee Beetles back...

...he wouldn't be the same Wallabee Beetles they'd come to love.

Nigel knew, they'd lost their friend some way or another.

* * *

_AN: Hope that didn't disappoint. Review and tell me what you think - it really helps to know what people like :3_


	5. V

**Disclaimer**: My name ain't Mr. Warburton.

**Author's Note**: Ugh.

* * *

They were late, and every second's passing was more agonizing than the last. Wally had come to counting down every minute as it passed; fingers rapping nervously against his covered lap as if they had a mind of their own. His own mind -which was still only functioning partially correctly- was filled with thought after thought of what scene would play out as soon as his friends arrived. They had already been about five minutes late when Abigail came to see him, and since then, the two of them had fallen into an uncomfortable silence, expecting their remaining teammates to waltz in the room at any given moment. And to be honest, Wally was actually _afraid_ of seeing his friends. Afraid of what they would do to him or say to him. He figured it would also be a little _nice_ to see them, since they were his bestfriends after all. They would still care for him and love him, and nothing would change that. Unless of course they thought he'd gone way too far (which he knew he had) and they had nothing to say but that he was a pathetic loser. He knew the odds of them saying those exact words were rather low, but it deserved to be said from someone other than himself.

Every time someone passed by the door, his heart rate would pick up, thinking that the time had finally come to face his team as a whole. He wished they would just come and get this over-wtih so he could move on and get the rest he needed. At least if he was asleep he wouldn't have to worry about what anyone else was thinking, or how anyone else was looking at him. His head ached like crazy, and he was suddenly starting to feel stomach sick again. Damn nerves. Where was that doctor of his?

His eyes flickered to his side, where sat Abigail Lincoln in the uncomfortable hospital chair. Her eyes were glued very, very loosely to the television. He knew she wasn't even paying attention, but they both had found it best to just pretend to watch it (with the television still on mute, mind you), instead of sitting there and staring at eachother with nothing to say. Of course Abby had _plenty_ things to say, but she would have to keep those things to herself for the moment. Wally only had apology after apology, but he knew that his words didn't even count anymore, so they remained left unsaid.

After another minute of discomforting silence, a knock sounded on the door. Wally swallowed with his best efforts to keep all that nothingness down where it belonged. Nigel appeared in the doorway, and Wally's eyebrows lowered in confusion upon realising that the other boy was alone. Where was Hoagie? And Kuki? Weren't they coming?

"Hey."

Wally said nothing. Abby practically smiled, feeling much relieved that the team leader was there. "Hey."

Awkwardly clearing his throat, the British boy took a few steps closer, surveying the blond in the bed just for a second. "I just wanted to check to see who was in here. And, if you were even up, before the others came in." Wally nodded, as the first sign of acknowleding the male's presence. His eyes were still elsewhere, but he was listening. They all knew he was. And it was the best he could do at that point. "How are you feeling?"

Was it really as much of a stupid question as Wally thought it was? Because he found it rather ridiculous to ask someone in his position. Then agan, what more was there to say? "Okay." He shrugged. He certainly wasn't fantastic.

Nigel nodded, glancing over at Abby with a blank expression. "Right. Well, I guess I better go let the others know it's okay to come in."

"Numbuh Five will go." Abby said, standing up from her seat and motioning for the bald boy to take her place. Nigel wordlessly agreed, knowing that she'd given them the quick moment to be alone for a reason. Wally had obviously noticed her motives as well, for his expression grew grim, and his eyes pleaded for her not to leave them be. He didn't really expect the other boy to yell at him or anything, but he was a little more than ashamed with himself ( and no doubt his team leader was just as much --if not _more_). How uncomfortable it would be to be left alone. To be left in deafening silence, just like the one they had been left in last night.

But there was no chance to even think about doing anything, for only a second later, Abby was out the door and on her way towards the waiting area on the same floor level. Nigel glanced at Wally then took a seat in the chair, not exactly knowing how to begin, "Are you feeling alright? You look kind of sick..."

And he _felt_ kind of sick, too. Like really, really sick. He hmm'd quietly, but hardly gave a real answer. Nigel simply stared on, though trying his best not to intimidate the boy. After a moment, he verted his attention to the television, watching as the little cartoon mouse ran back into its hole; the cat shoving his paw in after to reach for him. It didn't even appear that the Brit realised the television was set on mute. Like anyone, he was hardly paying attention. "Tom and Jerry, huh?" He mused, attempting to lighten the mood and bring the other boy into conversation, "Haven't seen this in a while."

"Me neither." Wally mumbled, leaning his head back against the stuffy pillows. He'd half expected to receive another mini-lecture from the head of Sector V, but was gladly surprised into the small talk. It wasn't much like Nigel to act like nothing had happened, although perhaps he was just waiting for the others to arrive. Either way, never had a little chit-chat sounded so inviting. Especially considering how Wally hadn't had any real common (and non-awkward) conversation since the previous afternoon, before he'd gone up into his bedroom to do what had sent him to where he was _now_. He was kind of looking forward to just forgetting about the awkwardness for a moment, and talking or thinking about something else. But after a few seconds with no response, the hope for moving on washed away. His green eyes jumped from his guest, to the TV and back. He couldn't focus on the show, nor could he focus for long on the other boy's face. And without a doubt, it would take quite a while for him to be able to.

Sadly, Nigel's attempt to bring them out of their silence was a failure because really, he had nothing else appropriate to say. He looked towards the television, jaw set tightly in a thoughtful manner. He could see -in the corner of his eye- how the smaller boy continuously looked on between him and the television in confusion. The look in the Australian's eyes...unnerved Nigel to say the least. He was disappointed in himself, beyond guilty, sad, afraid, angry, alone, confused...everything he had seen last night was still rushing through his body like there was no tomorrow. Even if Nigel wasn't looking the boy directly in the eyes, he could see it. He could feel it. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut right down the middle with a knife. And anybody with a brain could tell. It really wasn't too difficult.

"Does this mean I'm off the team?" Wally asked after another moment of nothing. Nigel blanched at him, not having expected the question (or any, for that matter). The boy had asked so quietly, it would have been unpossible for Nigel to hear were they not already encased in complete and utter silence -and if he were not only a few feet away from the bed. And in truth, he didn't really have an answer.

"I don't know, Numbuh Four." He said, turning to look at him with sympathy, "I have a meeting with Numbuh Three-Sixty-Two at Moonbase this afternoon to discuss."

Wally frowned, thinking about the Kids Next Door Soopreme Leader and what she would think of him. What would _anyone_ think of him? There was no way in hell that he was fit (mentally fit, at the least) to serve. It was completely obvious to him that he wouldn't be doing anything related to the KND for a while, but whether or not he would return to the team would be anyone's guess. He understood if they didn't want him there anymore. He was a traitor to his friends. He had acted, knowing the consequences very well, regardless of whether he was hurting people or not. He didn't deserve his title, his numbuh, his position. He wasn't much of a team-player. He was alone in his own little world. But in all honesty, he really wished he could fight on the team again. After all, he wasn't even thirteen yet. And then again, maybe being kicked off would be for the best. He didn't want to have to go through the hassle of decomissioning. That had been one of the key reasons why he'd done this to himself in the first place. Wally grimaced with the thought. He wasn't sure what he wanted. Not anymore.

"...I don't really wanna be kicked off the team." He said, unsurely.

"Don't worry about that now, alright?" Nigel consoled, placing a hand on the bed's railing. "We'll discuss that later, in time. Right now, all you should have to focus on is resting and getting bett-"

Nigel's words were instantly cut off by a loud, ( and extremely familar) female shriek, errupting from down the hall.

* * *

"--_WALLABEE BEETLES_!-"

The voice vibrated around the corridor like a bat call in a cave, carrying itself right into the white room -being followed by approaching footsteps which grew louder upon the girl's arrival. Both Nigel and Wally looked towards the door as Kuki Sanban swiftly strudded in; eyes already stinging with tears. "--You jerk!"

The boy in question winced and raised his eyebrows in surprise, just as Hoagie Gilligan walked in, followed by Abby (who was looking just as surprised as he was, at the other girl's sudden outburst). Wally had _expected_ the oriental girl to be the angriest. He expected her to be the one who was hurt the most out of all his friends. He knew she was sensitive and didn't handle serious things well, and a whole bunch of other things. He _knew_. He just hadn't been prepared for her intrusion. The look on her face was one of pure fury, and hurt, and confusion and whatever else she deserved to feel. He practically mimicked her expression, though he was a little too afraid and guilty to look quite as angry as she did at the moment. It was as if she'd sucked up all the anger and emotion (minus the shock) from them all, and used it to her advantage; leaving them all to stand and watch in silence.

The usually bubbly girl approached him quickly, stopping in front of his bed with her mouth continuing to run faster than he liked, "Have you completely lost your mind?!"

Yeah, probably.

"What the _HECK_ were you thinking?" She forcedly asked, moving her arms up into the air most dramatically. There was no time for him to reply, because she answered the question for herself. Not like it really mattered or anything, because Wally wasn't planning on saying anything, anyway, "Probably _nothing_, huh! You _never_ think about things. Y-you just do them! Without giving them a second thought --no matter who you're going to hurt. You just _do_ them."

Her words hit him even harder than Abigail's had. And by the looks on their speechless faces, Kuki Sanban was speaking for them all. And she continued, ignoring the fact that her words were much too fast for his brain to compute and process like it should. "You don't care about anyone but yourself-" and he knew she was absolutely right, "Well, I don't even know if you care about yourself. But you certainly didn't care about what we would feel..."

The boy blinked uncomfortably, moving his eyes down to the blankets just like he had done earlier when listening to Abigail speaking. It was a whole different experience when someone was saying it like it was, right in front of other people. At least with Abigail, she had been gentle and they had been alone. But now? He could feel four sets of eyes on him, and he did not like the feeling at all. The girl paused for a moment, trying to think of what to say to him. He looked up just in time to watch a tear dribble down her cheek in slow-motion, and he looked away quick enough to miss it parting from her face and crashing to the floor.

"I mean..."she fumbled for the right words, " did you really think that whatever was bothering you, was something that we couldn't have helped you with?"

Wally swallowed, noticing the strange resemblance to something the other girl had previously told him. "I would have been more than glad to help you. We _all_ would have --and you know that."

He must have forgotten. "_Don't you?_"Or pretended that he'd forgotten.

There was another pause. Nigel and Abby exchanged worried glances, knowing that they would have to step in whenever Kuki went too far. There was only so much the boy could take, and in his current state especially. But as Wally had thought, it was as if the Japanese girl was saying exactly what was on all of their minds, and he _needed_ to hear it. Whether he felt well enough to or not. And frankly Wally didn't find her words all that harsh. He only found them to be truthfull. He was selfish, like she'd tried to explain. He didn't care. He didn't care about anyone, and that possibly included himself. (He wasn't entirely sure about that part.) His tired mind was having such a great difficulty keeping up with her. Everything...it was just too much. But he listened, and tried to grasp as many words as he could and store them in his head until he could take the time to really figure them out. Because at the moment, all he could really do was let each word pass through one ear and exit the other. It was much, much easier to do that with his head swimming as much as it already was.

Wally didn't even have to nod, because she'd taken his silence as a 'yes', and continued.

"So, why didn't you _ask_?" No answer. "You need to stop acting so tough and admit that everyone needs help, sometimes."

He didn't think she understood just how hard it was for someone like him to do that. He wasn't like her. He was his own person. He did things, and handled things a lot differently than she did. She was open with her feelings with everyone and that absolutely meant everyone. But he? No, he wasn't like that. He wasn't a little cruddy girly-girl like she was. He was a little boy. Little boys weren't like that. But she was too naïve to think that it wasn't as easy for him as it was for her. She didn't understand. She couldn't understand. She was too innocent, and Kuki-ish to understand.

"Even _you_."

Her arms dropped to her sides; over-sized green sweater covering her small, jittery frame as she took in a breath, There were more tears present on her, and by the looks of it, the rest of the team were fighting to keep their own eyes dry. What was it about Kuki Sanban crying that entitled the rest of the world to do the same? Perhaps because she had always been the happy-go-lucky optimist in any worst case scenario. The one who had always put a smile on even the most serious person's face at her childlike innonence. The girl who never stood still, and had her eyes all squinty-like because she was just too damn smiley all the time. And now -with her demeanor the complete opposite- it was easy to tell why. She wasn't much like the little, bouncy girl he knew so well. She was suddenly _older_ and one hundred percent more serious. And nobody seemed to like it. Wally scowled at the starchy blankets wrapped around his tense body, urging himself to keep it together and let himself think that he wasn't as hopeless as he knew he was.

"I thought....I thought we were _friends_." He did not like where she was going with this, "I thought we were all bestfriends."

And they were, they honestly were. He wished he could stress how much they all meant to him, but he couldn't say anything at all. Nothing he said would matter. "But how is that supposed to work, if you don't trust us enough to ask for help?" He blinked again, wondering if that had been the truth. And of course it had been, but how come he couldn't agree with it? He trusted them. They _were_ his bestfriends. But...

"It's not like we would've thought any less of you, or anything..." Was that really what he thought? He cursed himself for not having any answers. He wasn't any help at all. Not even to himself..._Especially _not to himself. Wally reckoned other people could hear their 'conversation' going on in that little room, too. And yet nobody had thought about closing the door. There was no time for that.

"You need to answer us all one question." And Wally knew just which one she was planning on asking, "Why did you do it?"

And then came the inevitable silence he'd predicted. What could he say to that? It was definately one of the most important questions he would need to answer for everyone, (especially for himself) but at the moment he wasn't really sure he had a legitimate answer. And who knew? Maybe one day he would find it. Yesterday he thought he knew what he was doing, and what he was doing it for. He had a list of reasons why, but it would take much too long for him to go down every reason now. His mind was not working. Not at all. He couldn't even think about _trying_ to remember why he'd tried to do it. Because he realised that he had been fooling himself all along, and now his motives were unclear even to him. So, no. He wasn't going to answer.

"Are you even listening to me?"

He nodded, just to show he wasn't a complete jerk and was actually paying as much attention as his head would allow him to. Which actually wasn't much, but what did they know?

"Then answer the question."

With what? A lie? He really didn't have any answers. But she was begging for one, so he muttered the only possible thing he could think of, "I don't know..."

"You don't know _what_?" Her question came so fast Wally wasn't sure he had even finished speaking.

What didn't he know? The boy knew absolutely _nothing_. He didn't know why he did things, he didn't know why he said things, he didn't know what had brought him to this...to this pathetic excuse for whatever it was he wanted to be. He didn't know what had made him so weak, or so stupid or why he'd betrayed them all. He wasn't sure what to think anymore. Did he want in, did he want out? Did he regret calling for Abby last night? Should he have just let himself die? He wasn't sure. He didn't know anything. Why couldn't she just understand that?

He shook his head and shrugged, answering her with a defeated sigh. "I don't know what to say to you..."

She did not like his answer, " It's a simple question, Wally."

Yeah, maybe. But what was 'simple' anyway? These things weren't _simple_ and so maybe he was overanalyzing things too much (--or trying to overanalyze things) but there was no easy answer for anything. Nobody understood him. Nobody would want to _try_ and understand him because they knew what was best or they _thought_ they knew what was best for him. He was just a dumb little boy who had his feelings hurt, who needed to be set straight --that's all. Right? Wasn't that the case?

And he couldn't just say, ' It's because I love you'. There was absolutely no way he was saying that to her. He'd barely come to terms with it himself and it wasn't easy. And yeah being eleven and in love seems kind of ridiculous, but then again there he was in the hospital for attempting suicide. He was just kind of ridiculous as a whole. And...well, she couldn't know. That would just make things even weirder than they needed to be. They were already pretty much unbarable. Why would he cause himself the humiliation and anguish and whatever else, and tell her? Because she didn't love him back, he _knew_ she didn't. At least she didn't _act_ like it. And if she did, he hadn't noticed at all. He had been too busy paying attention to acting like she annoyed him, to notice what she felt. But he knew no connection was there. She was just his friend and it needed to stay that way. But for him that was terrible...horrible...agonizing. He loved her. He _loved_ her. How had it come down to this?

And there was nothing about that that he could say to her. She wouldn't understand. She wasn't supposed to know. None of them were _supposed_ to know (although the rest of them probably already did). She was just...asking the right question at the wrong time. He didn't have an answer that he wanted to share. And _now_ especially, since she couldn't love him like he loved her. Not anymore. He was broken and fragile and messed up and everything she didn't deserve to have to deal with. He was like high maintenance now. He wasn't good for her. He wasn't good enough for anyone. For anything.

He mentally kicked himself for making things even worse than they had been before, "You wouldn't understand..."

If possible, her expression darkened almost instantly. Had he said the wrong thing? Because that was all he could think of saying. He needed to defend himself, his motives, his privacy. Couldn't they let him think things through before hounding him like that? He wished they would leave. Because he knew he'd said the wrong thing. But he was full of wrongs, so there was no surprise there...

"I wouldn't _understand_?" She repeated, with disbelief. "So, that's what you think, then?" Yep. "That I or _none_ of us would understand?" God, she sounded upset. Wally winced again, though continued to look towards the end of the bed, rather than at the girl who was speaking. He'd pretty much forgotten that they weren't the only ones in the room but, the others were just as silent as he was. It was a little hard to make out what she was saying. Her words were moshed together, and she was ''officially'' crying now.

"How can we _understand_ if we don't know what's going on?" Good question. Wally told himself he would have to let her know once he found the answer. "You can't expect to fix what's wrong now if you don't let anyone help you, yanno." True. Very true. The situation was much too big for him to handle on his own. But he didn't care. Not really.

Her tone changed from one of anger to almost one of defeat. She was practically pleading to him, coaxing him to open up for once. At least this once. "We _love_ you, Wally. " And he knew they did. Obviously. Because if they didn't love him, they wouldn't be here. "We want you to get better."

And they weren't the only ones. There wasn't a person who wanted him to get better more than himself. "Don't you _wanna_ get better?" And there went the ironic question. And the only answer he could give her was to flash his eyes in her direction for the second time. And that was answer enough for her.

"Then _tell_ us."

The silence overtook the hostile room almost immediately. Kuki stood there, looking as scary as anyone had ever seen her. She was fuming on the inside, but tried her best to keep calm for his sake. There was nothing more she wanted than to just grab him and shake him until he gave her an answer. And it actually looked like she would hit him any minute now. Perhaps that was why Abby was only a few steps away, ready to hold her back if need be. Nigel had long gotten out of the chair, and took a few steps back to give them the needed space. Hoagie stood leaning against the doorway in awe. He wasn't sure what he could say. Wally was his _bestfriend_. And he had to admit, he was a little more than butt-hurt about his bestfriend not wanting to come to him for help. Had he screwed up so badly? It seemed like they all were thinking the same things. -_How could they let this happen_?

And she wanted him to tell them _what_? Wally wanted to know. Tell them why he was a loser, a failure...tell them why he'd done it? Yeah. It wasn't that easy, though. He knew what she wanted. She wanted an answer. Some closure. It was just a mystery as of yet. But he didn't have any answers she wanted to hear, and so for her sake he wasn't going to say them. He was thinking ahead. He was thinking of _them_. For once. Like he should have before. After a minute of silence, she realised he wasn't really looking for an answer. He was just sitting there, in silence. He wasn't even _thinking_ about answering. He wasn't making things easy. But on his side, he knew he was protecting them. Or at least he hoped he was. Because then again, he didn't know anything.

"I don't _believe_ you." She seethed. It was like a slap in the face. "You said you wanted to get better, but....you're not even _trying_."

She sounded just as angry as she did when she'd first come through the door. Hot tears rolled down her pink cheeks, but there was no effort to stop them. She wasn't ashamed of crying like he was.

"I'm sorry...?" The attempt was weak, but he'd finally said _something_. Not really something she wanted to hear, but it was something none-the-less. And in reality that was all his mind would produce. Apologies were needed from him, and he had hundreds. No - _thousands_. Maybe more. Probably more. He was just full of them. And yet his words had no juice in them. It didn't even sound like he'd meant it. It came out more of a wary question rather than a statement. They wouldn't accept it, but he needed to try anyways. He needed to try anything to get them off his case. Because as much as they wanted to help, he wasn't ready to oblige. He didn't want their help. He _needed_ it. And it was devastating just how unmeaningful the phrase had come out. Because the one thing he wanted most in life at that very moment was for them to just understand how sorry he was. To understand just how much he hated himself for hurting them like this. He wished the whole entire world would just stop and listen to his apology. He wasn't expecting to be forgiven, but he couldn't stress how sorry he was to anyone. And his eyes grew watery just thinking about them not believing him.

"Are you?" She asked, disbelievingly. "Because_ I _certainly am."

What did she have to be sorry for? Wally glanced around the room looking for an answer.

"I'm sorry that my bestest friend doesn't trust us enough to help him..."

No, no. She had it all wrong. He _did _trust them. He just...there was no explanation. They wouldn't understand because he didn't understand it, himself. But he did not want her to think it was okay to assume that he didn't trust them, because there wasn't a group of people he trusted more in his life, than them and his family. But there was nothing he could bring himself to say to her. Or to anyone, because all he had to say was that he was sorry, but that didn't even matter now. His words didn't count, so there was no real point in saying anything else. Like he'd learned in that one Disney movie, that if you had nothing nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all. And not even his apologies would be productive, because no-one could really understand just how serious he was when he said them. So, he figured he was better off not saying _anything_ anymore.

She was still expecting him to give her some kind of response, but he just wanted nothing than to be left alone. He glanced towards the window, disappointed that he couldn't think of anything to say to her. And she was outraged.

"...I hate you."

It was as if all the oxygen was suddenly sucked out of the room. The others let out a chorus of short gasps, surprised at how much anger was behind the words -though the girl who said them had made the phrase hardly audibly at all. Wally looked her straight in the face for the first time that morning, with nothing but terror written in his green, conflicted eyes, and held his breath. Surely she couldn't mean it...

Right?

"...I hate you _so _much..."

Was he supposed to take that seriously? Because...surely the girl hadn't mean what she said. She was just angry. Too angry at the moment to realise what she was saying. She was just blowing up with emotion. She was just in the moment. Of course she didn't _really_ mean it. She didn't hate him. She couldn't have. It was unpossible. Kuki Sanban did not _hate_ things, ever. She loved everything. And especially her friends. But then again he'd done tthe stupidest thing he could've done, and hurt her. Didn't that entitle her to hating him? It was understandable. She was just upset at him for hurting the rest of the team, and most importantly himself. He got it. He wasn't helping by being so quiet but he really didn't have anything believable to say. And by the sorry look in her eyes, she _knew_ she had taken it too far.

"You....you know I don't hate you, Wally." She _cared_ about him enough to tell him she _hated_ him for this. For everything he'd done. He told himself not to take her words to heart because he knew he deserved them from _somebody_. Even if they _were_ just words. They were real words that needed to be said and they had been finally. Yet the mere_ thought _of her actually being able to hate him was too painful. "I didn't mean it..." She sniffled loudly, debating whether or not to reach over and hug him. She wanted to, and one might have assumed she would have done just that...but something...

...there was just _something_ different about the situation. He wasn't trying. And if he wasn't wanting of her help, then she wouldnt bother...

"I'm sorry..." She mumbled, giving him one last, long look before turning and rushing out of the room. "...I'm sorry..."

She was out of the room just as quick as she'd come in, and none of the remaining members of the team could really react to her abrupt departure. Wally did not like her being sorry. If anyone was sorry, it should be him and him _only_. Which he was beyond explanation. Which was exactly why he'd taken his little vow of silence. The one person who he liked the most (and probably who liked _him _the most), ran out crying because she couldn't stand being in the same room as him.

.

.

.

His head hurt.

A lot.

* * *

"Uh..." Nigel cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence. Abby glanced at him, then towards the doorway. Should somebody go after her? "Maybe it's best if we let Numbuh Four rest for a while."

Yes. If there was any time he needed to rest, it would be now.

"Numbuh Two. Could you...go get the bus ready?"

Hoagie nodded, though he wasn't quite as anxious to depart as their leader was. He hadn't even had a real chance to _say_ anything to his friend, and he took this moment as his one and only chance until who knows when. He took a few steps closer to the bed and placed a hand on the smaller boy's shoulder. "Feel better, alright, Numbuh Four?"

He didn't even get a nod back. The blond just sat there blankly, looking as lost as he had the night before. Hoagie frowned and moved his hand away from his bestfriend and shuffled out of the room with a sigh. Nigel and Abby watched him go, then turned to face Wally.

"Alright. Make sure to get some rest." Nigel ordered, calmly. "Are you coming with us, Numbuh Five?"

She shook her head at him, "Nah. Numbuh Five's getting a ride home with her daddy."

"Right then." The boy in red nodded, casting one last look in the blond's direction, "We'll be in touch. It's good to see you, Numbuh Four." Alive and...well, _alive_. Nigel offered a quick, needed smile in Abby's direction and exited the room to catch up with the pilot.

Abby turned to the silent boy in the bed and looked him over carefully. Everything about him (his expression, his physical appearance...) screamed something other than 'alright'. And she took it in her mind that she would be there for him no matter what. She knew they all would. And he obviously knew that as well, but it would only be a matter of time before he reacted to the offer and would take their help. And until then, they would just have to wait.

"You want Numbuh Five to stay?" She asked him.

There was no answer.

But she could figure it out herself that her being there had pretty much no effect on him. He needed to rest, and he would probably appreciate the privacy.

"Alright. Numbuh Five will let you sleep." She began, "Your mom's in the cafeteria. She said she'd be back in twenty minutes, so she should be here pretty soon. Ya gonna be okay?"

No, of course not. But there was no answer.

" 'kay," she patted him quickly on the shoulder, "See ya later."

And once again the boy was left to himself. He turned his head towards the door, wanting to call out for his friend like he'd done the night before. She had _saved _him. And he wasn't sure whether being alone made him feel any better or not. He didn't want company to talk with, but the feeling of not literally being alone was nice. And now, all of his bestfriends had left him. They just left him. And he knew he was to blame for being so difficult, but could he _really_ he blamed for being like that?

He leaned his head back against the pillow and weakly tried to get comfortable. He would probably be there for a while.

He reached for the remote, pressing the button to turn the volume up so he could actually hear something other than himself breathing irregularly. It was picking up, and tears once again blurried his vision. But now that he was alone it didnt matter. He hadn't wanted to cry before. He wanted to be in control of something....anything...but it was obvious now he didn't even know what the heck he was doing. So he let himself lay there defeated, turning his back to the door and the rest of the world as he cried.

He cried for his friends...for his family...for the words he so desperately wanted to say to them all...for the mess he'd become...

And he cried for the fact that Wallabee Beetles was gone.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Double 'ugh'. I had such high expectations for this, I did. And I really hope it didn't disappoint too badly because frankly I don't like it. I had to force myself to post it because if I didn't do that now, I never would have. I probably rewrote it like eleventy-billion times, and most of that writing took me until four in the morning last night. I just wanted to get Kuki's part right. I wanted it to be emotional, and wanted to make people cry because I'm mean like that. This was the hardest chapter so far. I have a feeling the rest won't be as hard, because I'm really anxious to get Wally out of the hospital and everything. Which will happen in the next chapter. Which will be up whenever I finish writing it.

If you got any suggestions for a song or two for the playlist I'm compiling then please do tell now, because I'm almost done with it and should have it to go along with the next update.

Reviews are always much appreciated.


	6. VI

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything you recognize. The doctor is mine, though.

**Author's Note: **Well, well. What have we here? Yes, I hate to say it, but this is one of those things that some people call a "filler" chapter. Sorry if this isn't exactly what you expected. Nothing really eventful here, I know it. But this is seriously like the fourth time I've tried writing _something_ for this, and this is all I could come up with. So, I'm putting it up here whether I like it or not (and I don't, really) because if not, it will never be updated. I used Sally as Wally's mom's name again. Long Tall Sally. The Beatles? I just think it's funny. Next chapter should be more interesting. I get to introduce a new character, so that should be fun. I'm working on it. But I hope this will do for you in the meantime. I'm thinking about having an update every Friday, since I haven't been using a writing schedule. So, yeah. I might get the chapter up before then. But Friday is certainly my goal. So taaa.

* * *

"What are you saying?"

"Well, generally with that age, most parents first like to try therapy."

"Okay," Mrs. Beetles replied, calmly eyeing the man in blue scrubs. Dr. Maddox, who stood there with her outside of her son's hospital room, had a habit of speaking with his hands. It was something that the woman found most interesting, since there wasn't much else to look at. The man probably wasn't old enough to be considered a great-grandfather, but he was certainly getting there. His once dark brown hair was losing its shade and thinning, much to the man's disliking. The top of his head was spotless, and the staff and patients often found themselves staring at how the light reflected off of it. Sally Beetles, too, sometimes had nothing else to look at. She'd already looked through each magazine she'd come across, at least twice. There really wasn't much other than that to do in a hospital.

"A lot of times we find, therapy can help the child and family without having to put the child on medication." He continued, "Especially in cases like this, when it already played such a key role in the incident." The 'incident', as they'd come to call it, had now passed for a few days."Statistically speaking, many people who try and live, try it again."

Sally didn't like what she was hearing. She gave a sigh, turning her head for peek into the room, where her son was in bed, seemingly enthralled in the television.

"I know how hard this must be." It wasn't the first time Henry Maddox had dealed with this scenario with adolescents, but it was certainly rare considering his patient's age range. "But the most important thing you can do at this point is just be there for him."

She _had_ been there for him, hadn't she? That's what she had thought. And she knew that there was virtually nothing else to do but just be a mother for him. But she'd been his mother all this time, and he'd gone and done this behind everyone's back. How could they not do anything else? There had to be something. Something more. Because whatever they had been doing before, wasn't working.

"You mustn't continue to blame yourself."

Sometimes, Sally thought, doctors were just too smart for their own good. Was she really being that obvious?

"That's my baby in there," she said, pointing into the much-too-white room. Seeing him in this state killed her. " And all I want to do is make sure that my baby is going to be okay." Not to mention how overwhelming the thought was to finally have her son released from the hospital, and fully into their hands. What exactly was it they were supposed to do?

"With such a supportive mother, I'm sure Wally's going to be feeling better in no-time." That made her want to smile, and her lips almost twitched into a soft grin, but she didn't have quite enough energy to do so. To say that she'd been losing sleep had been an understatement. It hadn't been easy on anyone in the Beetles family, maybe except for Joey. The most he understood was that his brother was no longer at home, and was at the hospital. Wally was extremely thankful that the baby understood nothing more than that, since he was probably the last person on Earth who didn't already hate him. He figured he needed to take that as an advantage. Even if it meant clinging to someone who could barely speak.

"Now, sometimes therapy isn't enough, and then families resort to using medication."

"I'd really rather not put him on medication."

"I understand that completely, which is why I'm referring you to a psychologist who specializes in this type of situation. " The thought was inspiring, yet not as much as it should have been. They'd already sent in somebody to 'talk' to the boy the day before. It hadn't ended so well. "For children at this age, motivation for taking such drastic measures is often feeling the need for attention. Talking about that with a specialist and also the family could easily resolve things, or it might not. The important thing is that he needs to open up, and to _feel_ that there are people there for him will help him to do so."

"Open up?" She blinked in response. "My little boy hasn't said a word in _days_."

"I understand your concerns, Mrs. Beetles, but one of the most needed things in situations like this is patience. Letting him know that you're there for him, and you'll continue to be there for him until he's _ready_ to discuss, is basically what I'm saying." He paused for a moment to clear his throat, "To open up like that is going to be something that's difficult and confusing for him, and rushing doesn't always help. A few times a week with a therapist should be fine, as long as he's being carefully watched over and taken care of at home. Which I trust you will do."

He handed her a card, with the name of one Jeremy Sweets.

"This is the guy I was talking about. I've referred him to a few families before, and they saw quick results. He's really good with kids."

She briefly read over the card, then pocketed it. "Thank you."

"Of course." He gave her a nod, offering the blonde a sympathetic smile. She forced an expression of her own, and glanced back at her son. Her son who was dressed in a hospital gown, covered by starchy blue blankets in a hospital bed. Her son who - although reacted to her presence - had not uttered a word for almost seventy-two hours. She longed to hear his voice, but no matter how many times she engaged in one-sided conversations, he kept a rather straight face and stayed silent. Honestly, he didn't plan on saying anything to anyone anytime soon. He decided he really needed to _think_ about things before he began to run his mouth. And besides, what exactly was there to say? The only logical thing that popped into his head was apology after apology, but he knew a simple sorry would not suffice. He repeated it over and over in his head, as if his mind were a blackboard on which a teacher ordered him to constantly rewrite the same phrase. A simple sorry would not suffice. Nobody would take him seriously anyway, so what was the point in wasting his breathe?

"Sally?"

The woman in question returned her attention to the doctor, not having realized that they'd fallen into an awkward silence.

"He's going to be fine."

She knew he eventually would, but she couldn't help feel unsure about it. Patience, she had. But only so much.

"I hope you're right."

* * *

The days following Sector V's visit seemed to pass painstakingly slow for most of the team.

Abby had come back with her father again, but had soon come to the conclusion that the Beetles family deserved their privacy. As much as she and her friends wished to take matters into their own hands and help, she knew Wally's parents were much better handling the situation as it were. It wasn't like her presence had affected the boy much, anyway. He acknowledged her, he looked at her, he listened to her when she spoke, but he never made the efforts to respond. The nurses and doctor and visitors and anyone who had come in contact with him, could clearly see by the blank expression he wore at all times, that he really didn't care what they had to say. It was anyone's guess if he had been really listening half the time. Yet he listened to whatever his friend had to say, and whatever his mother and father had to say. Because he owed that much to them. Still, Abby never knew how unpleasant one-sided conversations could be, until she had them with Wallabee Beetles.

Dr. Maddox had gone as far as to say to Wally that he was a 'lucky boy'. Wally had somewhat agreed with that. Yes, having friends to call for help was lucky. And he was also lucky that getting him to the hospital in that time range resulted in the amount of pills he took to have almost little to no effect. To go through such an ordeal without having anything much too serious occuring to his physical health was a miracle. So, yes, Wally was lucky. But his mental health was in a whole 'nother ballpark, and he didn't even want to _think_ about that. There was really nothing lucky about the situation at all. So in a way, he had to also disagree. Lucky? There was definately a better word choice.

They'd kept the boy in the hospital, closely monitoring his condition. It reminded him of a time when he'd gotten a bad concussion after crashing his bike, and having to stay the night for observation. It was kind of like that, in a sense that he didn't really want to be there, but was too exhausted to complain. It wasn't all that bad, in fact, having a private room in the hospital. There was always the nice feeling of closure from everything and everyone else, even though he was very, very rarely left to his-self. Whether it was his mother, his father, or even Joey who accompanied him. There was always someone. And depending on how he felt at the time, their presence would be known, or ignored. Sometimes he needed to just ignore them, as much as he hated doing so. The feeling of having somebody just sit there and stare while he was trying to enjoy some cartoons, was difficult to get used to. He wanted to do nothing more than just watch T.V. and not have to think about anything, because the amount of thinking needed was loads. And it would no doubt take time and energy from the poor boy. So he did the one thing he could do. Rest. Leave the thinking for later, when he was home and had time to himself. Because here was much too busy, with machines beeping around, and people waltzing in and out of the room as if they owned the place. He was just wanted to rest. Doctor's orders.

Wally's father had come in as much as he could throughout the few days his son was in the hospital. He wished he could be there at all times, but the demand from having two jobs was intense, and _somebody_ had to financially support the family. Especially with these new, incoming hospital bills. He'd broughten Joey with him a few times after work, but he and the mrs. had resulted in leaving the baby with a family friend for the time being. His mother on the other hand, being a stay-at-home-mom, was able to be there for her son twentyfour-seven. And she certainly was.

Nigel had gone for his meeting with the Soopreme Leader, just as he had told the Australian he would when he'd last seen him. The meeting was as awkward as ever, being the seriousness of the situation surpassed what they were both used to. There'd been much discussion, a few moments where it seemed their words would escalate into argument, and much disagreement. Rachel hadn't really known what to do or say to the team leader. Obviously, the center of their discussion, was not capable of participation. He needed time to figure himself out, get better, _et cetera_. Nigel and her agreed on that part. But for how long would he have leave? Forever? That was still to be resolved, depending on his progress. But what the two really didn't agree on, was how much time the _team_ needed leave. Nigel said that they needed nothing more than a few days to reflect. With such seriousness, it would be nice to have something as means of distraction, and just because one operative was not able to fight adult tyranny, did not mean that the rest of them couldn't. Yet Rachel thought differently. They were all affected by said operative's actions, and the team needed to reconnect in more ways than one. The conversation went on, until Rachel (being Soopreme Leader) had come to a decision, whether he liked it or not. Sector V was to take at least two weeks off from missions, being that they had other matters which were much too important to take care of. She almost wanted to make every single sector take a week off to reconnect, but there was no time for that. They were always busy. And word of Numbuh Four's condition would make quick gossip. They'd agreed that this would stay between them for a while. One sector, even if it was one of their best ever, could easily take the time off. It was needed. And they would be reactivated when the time came, as long as they all felt they were capable of doing so. And Wally, still, left a matter for later.

The days had passed, slowly but quickly for Wally. Nothing more eventful had taken place than the times he got up to use the bathroom. There really wasn't much for a young boy to do in a place like this. The walls were plain, there were obnoxious noisy, medical machines all around, and nothing but the television could keep his attention for longer than a minute. His mother had brought in things for him from home. A few games to play, even a coloring book she'd picked up at the store. The games were a nice change up, though they gave him a headache after a while. The coloring book was just as entertaining. He'd colored in half of a picture, then got bored with it and pushed it aside. Meals were a whole 'nother story. He'd never really been one for hospital food, but then again nobody seemed to like it. His parents had gone out and gotten him a cheeseburger from McDonalds, or some other fast-food-y place he liked. He enjoyed that part, but not much else.

* * *

After spending four days in the hospital, it was finally the day of his release.

There were mixed feelings coming from each member of the family. Partly because they were all releaved that he would finally be coming home, yet somehow they all dreaded the thought. As soon as he stepped out of those doors, he was their's. What were they supposed to do with him? It was scary to think that something like this could happen again. And they were nowhere near prepared to handle it. If only there had been a Child Handbook or directions or _something_ that came with having a baby. It would have made things so much easier. They would know what to do.

"Excited to get out of here, kiddo?"

Wally turned to his father, who was seated in an uncomfortable chair beside him. All of his things were packed up and ready to go. His mother was signing him out. And why his father had asked something like that, Wally didn't really know. He figured it was a means of starting conversation. They'd been trying to do that for what felt like forever to him. But what was there to say, again? Oh, right. Nothing really. His father heaved a sigh, and glanced back at Sally Beetles, who was now making her way back over to them.

"Alright, honey. Let's get you home."

He slowly stood, glancing around at his surroundings. He'd grown a bit accustomed to hospital life. It wasn't like was going to miss any of this, but there was no doubt that as soon as he got home, things would get increasingly different. They'd already been hard and awkward enough these past days in the hospital, but what would happen when they got home? He'd have to start doing what he'd been putting off. Thinking. And that was going to be difficult. He wondered what things would be like. Would he never get any privacy again? Ever? Would he able to do things he liked, or just go talking to therapists and stay inside all day? He understood that his mother would be overprotective of him, especially now. But when would he be able to go _out_ and do things? To see his friends? To keep his bedroom door closed like he liked? To be _normal_?

He wanted nothing than for things to just go back to normal. He wasn't looking forward to people treating him differently. And sure, his parents had done their best to keep things as least awkward and uncomfortable for him as they could, but it was almost unpossible. And leaving here, would mean going out into the rest of the world. And what did the rest of the world think of him? What did he think of himself? All these things would have to be figured out eventually, but not at all easily. There would be obstacle after obstacle, and nobody was looking forward to it. Nobody at all. There was no wondering why he was so _afraid_ to go.

He stared off in the direction of the automatic doors that he'd be exiting out of in just a few moments. As soon as he left, things would change.

For the worse, or for the better.

They would have to see.


	7. VII

**Disclaimer:** Jeremy is mine. The Beetles' belong to Mr. Warburton.

**Author's Note:** I would have posted this tomorrow, since Friday is now my update day and all, but I'm going to be busy and won't have time to. So I figured I'd post this now. I don't know, I kind of really like Jeremy. I'm not sure if you will, but I think he's kind of funny. If you can guess who I modeled his character off of, you get to be my bestfriend! And on a side note, Sector V doesn't really come out in this chapter. In a way, this is kind of another filler. At least to me. Because it was kind of important, yet nothing too amazing happened, you know? But next chapter, you'll get to see how our favorite team is doing. Fun stuff.

* * *

"So, should I call you Wally or Wallabee?"

Brown eyes travelled from paper to person, as they locked target on the young boy seated opposite the coffee table between them. It was one of those features put in to make the room have a less formal vibe, and one that was more relaxing or inviting. Or _something_ along those lines. At least that's what the young man was hoping to accomplish. It went along with the small couches that he and the younger male were currently seated in. Yet so far, he could feel nothing but a sense of total awkwardness looming between them both. It was not relaxing at all.

The fact that they'd only been in there for about a minute was really not a good sign. Time seemed to pass increasingly slow. And the hostility did nothing but grow as the clock's hand _tick tock_ 'd by. It was more than obvious that the blond did not want to be there, no thank you. And no matter what Jeremy Sweets did, he could _not_ get the kid to talk. Even after flashing his signature smile. Which was extremely irritating to the young psychologist, to say the least. He'd been at this job only a few years, fresh out of getting his degree. His features were nice: short brown hair, baby faced -and to most- mesmerizing chocolate colored eyes. He was experienced enough to know that for first-timers, therapy could be a strange, overwhelming, and typically not fun time. He'd been briefed on the boy's condition, and it hadn't been the very first time he'd come across a mute in his short time in his line of work. Yet he was determined to get _something_ out of this kid. Anything at all. Even if it was a threat to leave him alone because, like he'd heard plenty of times before, his help wasn't wanted.

"Uhm," he uncomfortably cleared his throat, "Would you like anything? Maybe a water, or a soda or something?"

The twenty-five year old caught his reflection in the window behind the boy, as his offer was left unanswered. His blue button shirt clashed with the grey colors of the outside world that he and Wallabee Beetles were currently closed off from. The day, so far, had been dark and rainy; seemingly feeding the dark moods that flooded his office that Tuesday morning. And although it was summer, the air had an unusual chill to it. The Australian merely quirked his lips in an awkward manner, and turned his eyes elsewhere. Jeremy fought a heavy sigh from escaping him. What exactly was he supposed to do to the kid? Tie him up and force feed him some nasty concoction until he spilled whatever the hell was on his little, damaged mind? No thank you. What good would _that_ do? The whole point of these therapy sessions was to help the poor kid out. Yet as his attempts at starting conversation continuously became failures, he couldn't help but catch and double the negative feelings that reverberated from the boy.

"Do you _like_ soda?"

The room was still much too quiet. Jeremy expectingly watched the blond for a moment, before releasing a needed sigh and pushing himself out of his seat. He felt the boy's green orbs glance up at him curiously, but he chose to ignore them. He flattened a crease in his shirt as he walked over to the mini fridge he kept in the corner of his office. Leaning over slightly, he grabbed at the handle and surveyed the fridge's contents. Rather empty, he decided. He would have to stock up later.

"Alright. You got a water bottle, " he began, pulling the items out for show, "a Pepsi -maybe you don't like Pepsi, do you? I know some people, well, a lot of people prefer Coke. Myself included." He cleared his throat again when there was no response, and placed the beverages on top of the black fridgerator. "Some..._what is this?_ - Leftover tuna from my lunch. I don't think you want that." He joked, as he gently shoved the container back in its place at the back of the fridge. "And finally a Caprisun. These are delicious. You know, unless you really want the tuna, 'cause I'd be glad to share the rest of it with you. I don't mind."

Nothing. He did not show any sign of disappointment. He scooped the three beverages into his hands and brought them over to the coffee table, standing them up as if they were in a police line-up. Jeremy verted his eyes to the silent blond before reclaiming his seat.

"Take your pick." He said, pointing to each drink as he once again announced its name. "Some fruity Caprisun drink, don't know which flavor it is. But it's tasty. Dasani bottled water, yum. _Or_ a can of Pepsi." Wally's eyes crept over so slowly over his options, unsure if he was thirsty enough to take up the older male's offer. When he'd left his house, some twenty minutes ago, he told himself he wouldn't say anything to this man. Not about the incident, or anything. Because he wasn't really pleased with the thought with speaking about his endless problems with a stranger. Wally hadn't really spoken about it to _anyone_ these past days since his friends visited him back in the hospital. He knew they'd gotten somewhat used to the idea for now, yet he wished they wouldn't take it so personal. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to them, but...well, it was too confusing to explain. But Wally knew what he meant. He glanced up at the man, eyes locking for the briefest of moments, before he reached for the Caprisun.

"Good choice," Jeremy mused, taking the water for himself. "You know, I always thought putting beverages into pouches was genius."

Wally watched as the older of the two uncapped his bottle and stole a sip, then ripped the straw from the back of his drink and stuffed it into its pre-assigned hole.

"So, you gonna tell me your name, now?" Jeremy asked, planting the bottle of water back onto the hard surface of the table. He leaned a bit closer, "Obviously I know your name already, but what exactly is it you want me to call you? Oh, come on. I gave you a drink. The least you could do is just answer my question."

Still nothing. Jeremy _hmm_ 'd in thought for a moment, then leaned back in his seat, trying to get comfortable. "Alright. How 'bout this...You just nod your little head yes or no when I ask you, okay? Should I call you Wallabee?"

There was a small moment of hesitation, but Wally gave the man a subtle shake of the head. Jeremy's eyebrows shot up with a mixture of emoitions, having known that the boy wouldn't have agreed. Yet asking had given him clearance for two questions, and possibley, two responses. "Alright, _now_ we're gettin' somewhere. Then what do you want me to call you? Bob...Frankenstein...Wilmer..." His jokes got no reactions. "Wally?"

Again, a short pause followed by an answer. "Yes? Okay, then. Wally it is."

* * *

"How do you think it's going?"

Ryan Beetles glanced up from the provided sports magazine at his wife, who sat fidgety beside him. He raised an eyebrow at her, noting that the pile of magazines on the table beside her was now in a messy heap. She'd obviously read through them all. "You're done with those, already?"

Her expressioned changed, and he sighed. Closing his magazine and placing it on the other table beside him, he turned to her. "Sally, I'm sure he's fine."

"We should have gone in there with him." She mumbled. Ryan contemplated what he could say to her. Lately, it seemed that his words could not console her in the same way that they used to. He figured it was because the 'incident' had come to change the way that she percieved anything and everything. It wasn't like he wasn't hurting either, because what their son had done had affected them both. But for Sally, it had been different. She didn't like leaving the boy alone for more than a second. And somehow, Ryan could tell, she was hurting more. Or maybe not _more_, just _differently_ than he was. But it was just one of those things that made sense in your head, and not out in words.

"We'll go in there when it's time", he replied, recalling how the therapist wished to give their son a few moments alone in case he had something to say that he didn't want his parents to hear, at least yet. "They're going to call us."

"I know, I'm sorry." She sighed, leaning her head back. "I just miss my little boy..."

Really, she'd only seen her son just five minutes ago. But Ryan knew what she meant, and it wasn't that. He missed his little boy, too. Because in truth, that blond headed boy inside that room was not the same blond headed boy they'd raised. He was a whole new person, and for the moment it seemed for the worse. They figured, no, _knew_ things would change in time. Things could, and would get better. They would do their best to make sure so. But for the time being, they would have to just wait it out and do what they could. Because there really wasn't any easy way of doing this. They could only ride it out, and be there for him when he was ready. Because it wasn't about them anymore. It wasn't how quickly they wanted or needed things to go. It was all about him. All about their son, and about how _he_ wanted things to go.

"I know, honey." He placed his hand on top of hers, "I know."

"We need to get him back." She said, not bothering to fight her frown. They needed to. And they would. Eventually.

Ryan turned again, and stared his wife of fourteen years dead straight in the eyes. "I know, honey. I know."

* * *

Wally wasn't sure if there _was_ anything more to these questions, but they didn't really sound relevant to cause. At least to him. Who cared if he liked apples, or reading, or playing soccer? What did _that_ have to do with anything? Probably nothing, but then again those therapists were sneaky-folk who loved to mentally analyze whoever they spoke to because they could, with anything said. So there was reason not to trust this guy. Not to mention that he was a total and complete stranger to him. Wasn't there a rule against speaking to strangers? He made a note to continue following rules.

"So, what do you want to talk about?"

Wally raised an eyebrow at the young man seated across from him. _What? _exactly did that mean?

"Well, I mean, it's obvious you don't want to talk about what _I_ want to talk about."

Wally let a heavy breath escape him, but said nothing. What was this guy doing? Wasn't he supposed to ask him question after question, and figure out what was wrong with him? Wasn't the whole point of these sessions to fix him and make him better? This was not what he'd expected. He glared warily at the young man, unsure of his motives. Why was he being so friendly?

"So, what should we talk about?" Jeremy went through a quick list of topics in his head, "How's that drink?"

Wally glanced down at the Caprisun left on the table.

"Good, huh? I usually finish a whole box of those in like an hour." He told the younger of the two, still leaned back comfortably in his chair. "I'm just addicted."

Wally's eyes followed a pretend fly around the room, trying his best to ignore the stranger's attempts at befriending him. It worked.

"I like your shoes." To an extent. The blond verted his eyes down to his white shoes. The same white shoes he'd worn the night of the incident. The same white shoes he usually wore, anywhere. Though they weren't exactly as white as they'd been when he'd gotten them, he liked them just as much. He didn't know why. They were just his shoes.

"So, tell me...what's your favorite TV show?" Wally's green eyes glanced up at his therapist, as he continued. "Or cartoon, whatever."

Jeremy was used to getting no response. He still did not let himself appear disappointed. He just pushed on, urging the boy to say something, anything. Wally didn't know or care why he was trying so hard, but it was getting kind of annoying.

"I'm going to be completely honest with you, I think Sesame Street is cool."

Wally found himself growing a little interested in this. "I sometimes babysit my niece, and she loves it. But truth be told, I think I like it more than she does." He released a low chuckle, not allowing it to pass over a second. Wally did not laugh. He merely thought this over, wondering if this guy, whoever the heck he thought he was, was only saying things about himself to expect him saying a few things in return. It was clever.

The silence took over a moment or two, and Jeremy sat up straighter. He did not want things falling even further out of control than they already were. At least with someone talking, it wasn't as uncomfortable. Not that them sitting there, one not having yet said a word, was any less awkward than the first moment that they walked in the door. But still, there was something about talking that Jeremy Sweets feel better.

"Are you tired of this?"

This _what_? Nonsense? Yes, Wally was tired of it.

"I mean, I really have nothing to say. I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do." He looked the boy over for a quick second, "Doesn't look like you want to talk."

Jeremy's eyes locked with Wally's for a moment. "Am I right?" He did not wait for an answer, "Of course I am. You haven't said anything." He pushed himself up from his seat, for the second time that session, and trudged over to his desk. "Sorry, I don't have anything fun in here. No games or _nada_. Wish I did. I'm really thinking about it." He grabbed two lollipops from a cup, and walked back over. Wally stared at the hand outstretched toward him, and took the BlowPop with a nod of thanks.

"Do you want me to call your parents in here?" Jeremy asked, waiting for a response before he sat down. Wally shook his head, no. "Alright."

They both unwrapped their BlowPops, and sat for a few more moments of silence until the young man once again spoke. "You know, I was born in Russia." He paused for a moment to suck on his lollipop, "Just outside of St. Petersburg."

Wally didn't really know where Russia was, but he knew it was somewhere over on the other side of the planet. "My father left my mother when he found out she was pregnant. He wasn't looking for that kind of thing. And she was really young, so she couldn't afford to take care of me." Wally guided the lollipop into his mouth, listening intently to the man's story. "She left me in a basket, on the porch of an orphanage with a letter. She'd written down my date of birth, my name, and that she wished they would take good care of me. She told them to find me a good home, where they would tell me they loved me everyday. Because as much as she loved me, that's what she wrote, she just couldn't take care of me. And she wanted me to have a good life."

There was another pause, "All I know is that I was a few days old at the time when she left me, and that her name was Natasha."

Why he was mentioning any of this was anyone's guess. Wally couldn't help but feel a bit sad about it. "Natasha. That's pretty much all I know about her. Her name, and that she'd named me Ivan."

Really, Wally could have sworn the guy's name was Jeremy. That's what the plaque on his desk read.

"When I was four years old, a Russian woman took me home." He removed the lollipop from his mouth and snapped open the can of pepsi, "Her son had just died the year before, and she wasn't married. Kind of felt lonely in her house, I guess. She wasn't all that young, either. But she had no-one else. So that's why she took me."

Wally adjusted himself in his seat, and continued to listen to the story. "I was pretty happy, I guess, thinking that I'd finally have a home. But soon after I came to live with her, the woman got sick. Like, really sick. She died a few months later. I was kind of sad, but I didn't cry. I didn't really understand what death was, at that time. I just knew that it meant you'd never see someone again." Jeremy glanced over at Wally for a second, "And I knew that it was supposed to hurt, but I'd been living in an orphanage all my life and I'd learned not to let every little thing get to me. Even if I was only four years old. I had to grow up, a lot quicker than most kids."

He cleared his throat, and took a sip of soda. "And I went from orphanage to orphanage over the next two years. It wasn't easy. But then my luck changed. I was six years old, when they told me that a couple from America was coming for me. They wanted me to live with them, and be their son. Interesting, because most people want to adopt a little baby. Even though there's tons of older kids who need homes in the system, too. But they couldn't have kids, and they'd already adopted a few from my country. So, they were familiar with it."

He popped the sucker back into his mouth, taking a quick glance at a car passing by the large windows. "So, I moved from Russia, without knowing a word of English, to a place up in Vermont."

Wally almost let a question slip his mouth. The speaker didn't seem to notice, "It was hard, if you can imagine. The language barrier caused some problems at first but they studied a little Russian, since they'd been there a few times, so it was easier for me. I learned English quite easily, and my Russian kind of whithered away. Not completely. They wanted me to continue to speak it and to grasp the culture and all, but English become my dominant language and my Russian lessened. And then it became official. I was apart of their family. And they had given me an American name just like they'd given all their kids."

Well, that explained what Wally had wondered. "Jeremy. Kept my first name, Ivan, as my middle. And I also took their last name." There was a strange twinkle in his eye as he muttered the next part, "So one day I went from being Ivan Spiridonov, a poor little Russian kid living in a village orphanage, to being Jeremy Sweets."

Wally watched how the man's previous friendly disposition had darkened for a moment, obviously speaking something or thinking something that wasn't all that pleasant to think about. "I consider myself really lucky to have been adopted by such loving people. I mean, to have them take me into their home and love me as their own son...well, I think that speaks for itself. But my time growing up still wasn't all that easy. I was really depressed and angry at the world, as much as I was happy to be living there with them. I always wondered if my mom had really cared about me or just written all that stuff as an excuse not to keep me. I wanted to find out who she was, but there's a lot of Natasha's living in Russia. " He again cleared his throat, "I just wondered if knowing who my birth mother was, was too much to ask for..."

How was he supposed to react to this? Wally wasn't sure. It was uncomfortable sitting there, listening to someone poor their life story out like that. When it was as tragic as Jeremy Sweets, or Ivan Spiridonov's was. Is this what Jeremy went through all the time? Listening to people speak deeply about everything and anything at all, was the man's _job_. Wally admired that. There was no way he could do this. He wasn't one for being emotional, and he wasn't good with tears. Or anything like that.

"But, the point of the story is..." his tone changed into one less glum, " that couple who adopted me, changed my life forever. I was angry all the time with how things were going. But then they showed me there was more to life. They showed me love, and how to be part of a family. They helped me. And I wanted nothing more than to help other people in any way I could, when I grew up. So after I graduated from high school, I went off to college in California to get my degree in psychology."

Wally blinked, stealing a quick glance at the clock on the wall. He wasn't good at telling time, so it wasn't much help at all.

"Some say therapy works, some don't. " Wally wasn't sure the answer to that one yet, "My adoptive father was a psychologist. I always thought his work was interesting. And really, the question isn't does _therapy_ work...it's does therapy work for _you_?"

Wally guessed it would be a matter of time until they figured that one out. "People are different. Some benefit from taking therapy, others don't. But it never hurts to try." His eyes locked to the boy's green ones, "And you know, Wally...I know you don't want to be here, but your parents sent you here for a reason. They want you to get better. Everyone wants you to get better, right?"

Wally's eyes gave Jeremy a good enough answer, "They think maybe this might be good for you. You might benefit from having someone to talk to. And yeah, you must be thinking, why should I say anything to this guy? I don't know him...it's none of his business. Is that what you're thinking?" The blond moved his eyes away, and Jeremy flashed him a grim smile, "See, I know. Because I was once in your spot. But think of it this way...I may be a stranger, but I can't judge. I'm just here to listen, and to talk to. Because you know, sometimes things are just to hard to say to people we know well. Things like this...like what happened to you. Obviously there's something going on, and you're having difficulty saying exactly what it is. And it's probably too confusing for you to figure out, anyways. Unless you know it. But if you couldn't have said it before, then you're probably still having trouble with that. And that's exactly what you're here for. "

He studied the boy for a moment before continuing, "And again, I'm not going to force you into anything. I'm just clarifying things. Why you are here right now, is to give you a chance to talk about things. Anything you want. We don't have to jump into things right away. Lots of people like to feel comfortable with who they're speaking to, before they get into details. And that's fine. If you want to bring a game, a magazine or anything...that's fine. I mean, that is if you _want_ to come back here. And if you don't want to have counseling with your parents in the room, that's totally fine, too. It's all up to you."

Wally thought this over. He didn't like how convincing Jeremy Sweets was.

"And look, your parents care about you. Obviously. I mean, they love you. I can tell you that much. You mean a _lot_ to them. And they want nothing more than their son to get better. That's a parent's job. To make sure that their children are alright. And really, kid, do you think you seem alright? Because you know there's nothing wrong with _you_, there's just something wrong with the world you're living in, and you're having trouble coping. Or something like that. It could be different things. It all depends on the person. And you, I can tell just by looking at you that you're very smart. And you're dealing with stuff that you don't understand, and keeping it inside and it's going to keep building itself up and up until you explode..."a pause, "Kind of how you already did."

Wally knew what he meant.

"And nobody wants that. _Nobody_. So, here's your chance. Not to be fixed or to get better, but to _try_."

Yes, things would go slowly. Wally knew that much. He also knew that acting the way he'd been acting, so far, hadn't helped anyone. Not even himself. It just furthered him from everything that he was hoping to accomplish when this was all over. Of course he wanted to get better. Of course. He didn't like what he was . He didn't like this new life he'd made for himself. Doing this was all just a big mistake, but he had to pay the consequences. He knew that. And he accepted that. But was it too much to just try? For the sake of everyone else? This man, Jeremy Sweets, made sense. Wally could benefit from that. Maybe. He would just have to cooperate.

"And even if you're not down for doing this for yourself, you could do it for everyone else. " Wally glanced back at him, "Because if you don't really want to _try_, the least you could do is _act_ like you're trying."

True. Very true. Wally cursed this man for being so persuasive.

"And yeah, this is probably hard for you, no doubt", he stopped here, tapping his finger against the arm of the couch. "But...well, let me tell you this saying I really like. It goes, "Things will always be okay in the end. If it's not okay, then it's not the end." Do you know what that means?"

Wally shrugged, though he had a feeling.

"It means, life's always gonna be throwing things at you. But you get by them eventually. You'll see, things get better. Everything will be alright in the end. But while there are still things that are bringing you down, because really, let's be honest here, life kind of sucks, right? It means you're alive, and you have the ability to make things better. But there's always going to be something, always...that you don't like. But you can't have everything your way. And one day everything will be different. But that's not for you to decide. It's whenever the time comes...you get me?"

Wally blinked. He understood.

"So, you know...it's really all up to you. You can go home and keep everything to yourself, and just wait to see what happens," he motioned over to the door, " or you can do something about it, and try. So, I'm giving you a choice, now. You can get up and I can walk you out to your parents and say goodbye and wish you well, or we can start over and try to make things work. So..."

When he received no response, the young therapist leaned forward and stuck his hand out towards the boy. "Jeremy..."

The blond's green eyes all but stared at the hand for a few moments, nothing but thought written in them. What to do, what to do. He knew what to do. But it didn't mean he liked it. He moved his eyes to the other's for a second, then hesitantly back down to the hand. He knew what he had to do. Not for him, but for everyone else. He'd already hurt them so much, this was the least he could do. He had to do it. So he did.

He reached his hand out and shook the other's, mumbling quietly as he did so. "Wally."


	8. Ahem

ATTENTION ALL WHO STILL HAVE AN INTEREST IN THIS STORY.

I thoroughly apologize for making this an author's note. Heaven knows how much it irks me when authors post these things instead of actual updates, but I've got a few things to say and this is the only thing I could think of. First of all, if you're reading this I assume you actually want more to read. Some of the best reviews I've ever gotten during this writing "career" of mine have been on this story, and I just wanted to take the time to thank everybody who has followed, favorited, etc. so far. I really appreciate all the kind words you all have said, and cannot stress how important your feedback is to me. It really makes me want to write more, just to hear your opinions.

As stated before, on the one-shot I just posted, my KND muse is slowly returning to me, and I'm hoping it stays for good. (Cross more than just your fingers!) Therefore, I will be working on finishing the stuff I have left behind, before I start any other lengthy stories, especially if my muse is only around for a short period of time. I will probably be posting some short stories/ficlets, but I promise I will make much progress in this story before I get ahead of myself. As usual, it is difficult for me to carry on where I have left off, and frankly, believe I can do a much better job this time around. There are some things I'd like to change. So, my plan is to sort of reboot the entire Op FADING series and start from the beginning. I will be replacing the chapters as quickly as I can, then will continue from there. I hope you all can understand why I'm doing this. :)

Anyway, sorry again for posting an author's note. I feel hypocritical already.


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